Stranded!
by Alcamenes
Summary: R/Hr--The title is self-explanatory; Ron and Hermione become stranded in a snowstorm after the train car they were riding in derails.*Complete*
1. The Derailment

A/N: I'm reposting Stranded! It hasn't changed in the least since the last time I posted it, but I was surprised that in just that past few days since it disappeared from the site that several people have been asking me for it. This, of course, rather surprised (and pleased) me so I decided that since there was a demand that I would just put it back up.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter etc. are the intellectual property of JKR; no infringement is intended.

****

Chapter 1: The Derailment

White flakes littered the sky on that cool January morning, and London had never looked more beautiful. The car that carried Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger was headed towards King's Cross Station where they were to take the Hogwarts Express back to school after two weeks of Christmas vacation.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Hermione remarked, her eyes dreamily scanning over the snowy scenery. "I always love it when it snows; it's like a piece of heaven making its way to earth." She glanced at Ron, waiting for a response no doubt, but none came. "Aren't you going to say something?" she asked. Ron had been quiet since they'd left Hermione's parents at Diagon Alley.

"I'm sorry, were you saying something?" he asked her, a flush slowly creeping up his neck and ears.

"I suppose it wasn't important," Hermione huffed, turning back to the window.

Now in their seventh year at Hogwarts, the two's friendship had changed little from the way it had been when they'd first met; they still had blazing rows every other day, and they were both still afraid of admitting that they had feelings for each other although they were both aware of the tension that had been present between both of them since the middle of their fourth year.

"Thanks for having me over for Christmas, Hermione," Ron broke the silence, his eyes moving in her direction for a second. She still looked the same as she had when they'd first met with her bushy brown hair and chocolate eyes, but she was taller now, and she'd filled-out, as was inevitable for anyone to do when one grew up. Still, she was more beautiful to Ron than ever before, and she became more beautiful every day he knew her.

Hermione was surprised to hear Ron speak. She had invited both he and Harry to spend the Christmas holidays with her and her parents but Harry had preferred to remain at Hogwarts with Ginny Weasley…whom Hermione suspected he secretly fancies. The rest of the Weasley family had all been headed to Paris to celebrate the opening of the first international installment of the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes chain. The French store was the eighth of the series where in Britain there were stores in Hogsmeade and London and five others spread around the country. Mrs. Weasley had been especially proud of the twins' success and was the first to admit that perhaps she'd been wrong to be so hard on Fred and George. "You're welcome, Ron," Hermione answered him. "It's me who's glad you came. Spending Christmas without Harry was bizarre enough, spending it without both of you would have been unbearable," she told him, knowing that as bizarre as it _had_ been not to have Harry about, she was rather glad that she and Ron had been able to spend time together…just the two of them. She placed her hand on top of Ron's and he gave it a slight squeeze; their eyes met and it looked as if Ron was going to say something. He seemed to be hesitating, making0up his mind; finally he opened his mouth to speak.

"King's Cross, folks," the taxi driver interrupted, and Ron's mouth snapped shut. He and Hermione got out of the car, and Hermione handed a few bills to the driver who helped them with their bags and Hermione's trunk. There had been no need to bring their trunks as they were only gone for a few weeks and the workload had been light, but Hermione had brought hers regardless, having wanted to read every imaginable book known to man.

"Here, let me help you with your trunk," Ron told her, grabbing one end of it as she took the other. He had only brought a knapsack, which was presently slung over one of his shoulders. Hermione couldn't help but notice how grown-up he looked. At eighteen, Ron was now well over six-feet tall, with broad shoulders, and a sturdy yet athletic physique. His hair was stylishly short and his face had matured, his strong jaw sprinkled with a little red stubble…he had undoubtedly neglected to shave that morning, and Hermione longed to reach-up and touch his cheek with her fingertips.

"Hermione?" Ron's voice broke through her thoughts and she realized that they were still holding the trunk without having moved, yet. She blinked a few times to clear her head.

"Sorry," she muttered, as they made their way in to the station and towards the barrier separating platforms 9 and 10.

"On three?" Ron asked, and Hermione nodded. Ron counted to three and they silently walked through the barrier, emerging on the other side where a crimson steam engine stood stationary under a sign bearing the numbers 9 ¾. Surprisingly little students had made the journey home that Christmas; the platform was unusually empty. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was still about and parents preferred to have their children remain under the magical protection surrounding Hogwarts. It had taken a lot of convincing on Ron's part for his parents to agree to let him go home with Hermione.

Ron lifted Hermione's trunk onto the train, and they took seats at the very back in the last compartment. No one else was in the last car and Ron stretched-out over two seats of the compartment while Hermione sat opposite, scowling slightly.

"What?" Ron grinned, "I'm a growing boy, you can't possibly expect me to sit all cramped-up for the entire journey; it's bad for my posture," he told her. Hermione shook her head knowing full well that posture had nothing to do with it. They sat in silence for a few minutes, the train, having pulled-out of the station, was now making its way along the English countryside. Ron was looking out the window where large snowflakes were hitting the pane angrily.

"You were right, before; it really _is_ beautiful," he said, referring to the snow. So he _had_ been listening, Hermione realized. She was secretly pleased, and promised herself she wouldn't be so quick to judge him in the future.

For the next few hours, Ron dozed while Hermione caught up on some reading. If anything, rather than letting up, the snow had gotten heavier. They had been on their way for about four hours and in that time Hermione had finished half of her book. She shut it and ran her hand over her eyes as she arched her back stretching. She hated reading in the train—it gave her a headache—but NEWTs were quickly approaching and she needed to be as prepared as she could be. She glanced at the opposite seat where Ron lay snoring softly. His neck was bent at an odd angle and it would surely be sore when he awoke. Hermione was about to wake him when a slight jerk on the part of the train did the job for her.

"What the bloody...ow!" came Ron's muffled expletive as he woke up in a start and felt the shooting pain in his neck

"So much for your posture," Hermione held back a giggle. One side of Ron's hair was stuck to his head whereas it stuck up at odd ends on the other.

"Bugger-off, Hermione, can't you see I'm in severe pain, here?" he whined, wincing as he gingerly turned his head, trying to work out the kink to no apparent avail.

"Oh, you big baby; come here," Hermione said in an exasperated voice as she rose from her seat and came to stand in front of him. "Turn around," she ordered.

"Why?" he asked, suddenly suspicious of her motives. Rather than reply, Hermione rolled her eyes and took his shoulders, turning him so that he was facing the wall. Her hands were cool against the warm skin of his neck and when she started kneading the muscles of his shoulders with her fingertips, Ron thought he'd died and gone to heaven.

"Hmm," he muttered, as she hit a particularly sensitive spot and magicked away pain and discomfort. "You know," he told her, "if that magic thing doesn't work-out for you, you should seriously consider becoming a masseuse." One of Hermione's hands temporarily left his shoulder and connected lightly with the back of his head as she smacked him. "What?" Ron asked, defensively, "I was giving you a compliment!" he told her.

"Oh, well in that case, I suppose thank you is in order," Hermione replied, patting his head gently where she'd just hit him. She rearranged his hair so that it was no longer so messy before realizing what she was doing, and going back to the massage. Ron's skin was surprisingly warm beneath her fingers, and she realized that she'd never been this close to him for such a long period of time, and on purpose, no less.

"Hermione?" Ron asked, his voice suddenly thoughtful.

"Yes Ron?" Hermione replied, expectantly, hopeful. She'd had the feeling that he wanted to tell her something since hat morning's taxicab ride.

"Well, I, err," he changed tactics: "Lower, please," he said, and Hermione obliged, working on the muscles of his mid-back. If truth be told, she had never given a massage before, only read about them in books, but she was going primarily on instinct, kneading muscles she imagined she'd want massaged if the roles were reversed…although she tried not to think too hard about having Ron's hand on her back in that way. Hermione's fingers eventually came to rest on either side of Ron's spinal cord, and as she put pressure on the spot, Ron arched his back, letting-out a small moan of contentment. Hermione drew her hands back as if she'd been scalded.

"Why'd you stop?" Ron asked, turning around. His brow was furrowed in a frown, and Hermione thought he'd never looked sexier.

"I, well, err, does your neck still hurt?" Hermione muttered, hoping to God that she wasn't blushing and trying like hell to stop staring at him like a ravenous wolf eyeing a piece of fresh meat.

"Well no, but…" Ron began, but stopped as he tried to come up with his next words. "…But, it was just beginning to get interesting. Another few minutes and you would have come up with some lame excuse to get my shirt off," he finished with an evil grin.

"Now, really!" humphed Hermione, "of all the macho, egotistical things," she started, but was cut-off as the train gave another lurch and she was involuntarily thrown forwards.

"Fancy meeting you here," Ron grinned again, and Hermione realized she was splayed on top of him. She tried to raise herself as gallantly as she could but a strand of her hair had somehow gotten twisted around one of the buttons of the Muggle shirt he was wearing.

"I'm stuck," she told him.

"Seems that way, doesn't it?" Ron replied, making no move to help.

"Could you, er, undo me, please?" she asked, and immediately cringed at the realization that what she had just said could easily be construed in a completely different manner.

"Really, Hermione, I'm not that kind of guy," Ron replied in a fake tone, obviously enjoying every moment of this rather unfortunate situation. Hermione smacked him—hard—in the arm. "Ouch! That's going to leave a bruise! —Just you wait until I tell Harry that you beat me." Hermione meant to hit him again, but he grabbed her wrist, laughing. "Relax, I'll have you free in a minute." And, true to his word, she was able to lift herself completely a few seconds later.

"What were you really going to say earlier when I was massa—when I was rubbing your neck?" Hermione asked him, curiosity getting the better of her as she lifted herself from him and sat next to him on the seat. His statement from a few minutes before, the one about her trying to get his shirt off, was lingering in her mind. When exactly had Ron become so daring around girls? It seemed so unlike him; in fact, last year only he would have become incredibly flustered and would have turned beet red at even the mention of what they had been doing seconds before—regardless of how innocent the circumstances had been.

"I don't remember," Ron lied.

"You're a lousy liar." Hermione called his bluff easily. She knew him far too well.

"Don't you ever get tired of this?" Ron asked, finally, giving up trying to fib his way out.

"Tired of what?" Hermione asked him, slightly confused.

"Of, you know, _us_, and all this skirting about for no reason."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione said, although it was now she who was lying as she knew exactly where this was going, and had to admit that she'd been wondering the same thing over the past few months.

"Yes you do, Hermione; you know exactly what I'm talking about."

Hermione decided playing dumb was the best course of action: "On the contrary, I—"

"Oh, bollocks, Hermione," he interrupted her, "if I were to kiss you right now, what would you do?"

Hermione's eyes bulged slightly at Ron's suggestion and she stood, trying to put as much distance as she could between the two of them. Her mouth opened and closed rhythmically like that of a fish as her mind groped about for the perfect words. They did not come, however, and all she could do was stare at Ron. Ron walked up to Hermione and stood directly in front of her, his tall frame dwarfing her. For one terrifying—and exhilarating—moment, she thought he was going to go through with it. He had bent down so that their faces were mere inches apart, and she stood terrified, her gaze fixed on his lips. He did not kiss her, however; he did not even try. Instead, he began to laugh and stopped only when she shot him a dirty look.

"It's okay, Hermione; we'll play it your way…but only for now."

The train lurched yet again, this time more violently than before, and Ron bent to look out the window.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" he asked no one in particular. He squinted, trying to see through the inky darkness beyond the glass, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. "You stay here, I'm going to go up front and see if I can't see what's happening," he said and walked towards the compartment door. Before his hand reached the handle, another tremor hit and the lights flickered a few times before the compartment went completely dark. The lights did not come back on, and with another great lurch, Ron and Hermione were thrown off their feet as the entire train car rolled onto its side and tossed them about like a bad roller coaster. Hermione heard Ron groan and a dull thud before she was propelled into her trunk, hitting her head—the world went black.

~*~

Hermione was aware of only one thing as she woke up, and that was of the sharp pain in her skull. She opened her eyes slightly and quickly shut them again at the site of two Rons swimming above her.

"You never told me you had a twin," she said groggily—her feeble attempt at a joke. Several snowflakes fell onto her face, and she realized that she was lying in the snow.

"Thank God you're awake," Ron said. He was holding tightly onto her hand, and if it weren't for her pounding headache, she would have been happy of that fact. Hermione opened her eyes, this time a little wider. The two floating Rons converged into one. He had a cut above his eyebrow, and a nasty looking bruise quickly forming on his jaw.

"What happened?" Hermione asked. Her vision was coming and going; she probably had a concussion.

"Our care derailed," Ron explained, "it was the only one from what I can tell. The train must've kept going…it was almost empty, probably no one even noticed."

"Are _you_ alright?" Hermione asked him, ignoring her protesting brain as she carefully sat-up. She didn't seem to have anything broken as far as she could tell, but her bottom was already soaked through from being in the snow.

"I'm fine, a few scratches and a banged-up knee, but I'm more worried about you. Your head is still bleeding pretty badly and the snow is coming down worst than ever. We need to find somewhere to spend the night before we freeze to death." Ron took Hermione's hand and helped her to her feet. She leaned into him as the world did a flip-flop.

"Are you okay?" Ron asked her, worry lining his voice.

"Yes, just a little dizzy; give me a minute," she said, although she didn't honestly think a minute would be enough. Hermione gingerly touched her head, assessing the damage. The spot above her temple where she'd hit the trunk was raw and jagged, and she winced at how tender it felt. When Hermione pulled her hand away it was covered in blood. She tried to ignore that fact as she looked towards the barely visible horizon, trying to make out somewhere, anywhere, where they could take shelter. "Any idea where we could go?" she asked Ron, looking up at him expectantly. His eyes were also focused on the horizon; he was frowning.

"I think there's a cabin a little further up; I've noticed it every year when we pass it. I don't think anybody lives there, but right now we just need to stay warm until someone realizes what happens and comes looking for us."

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked doubtfully, thinking that maybe it would be safer for them to stay by the wreckage of the train car, but when she spotted the lump of twisted metal, she realized that it would afford them little if any protection…it was a wonder they'd survived with so little damage to themselves. "How can you be sure that the cabin you remember is around here? The landscape all looks the same…we could have passed it by now, we might not even be near it, it might not even be still—" she was nearing hysterics, and Ron put a finger to her mouth to quiet her.

"Ssh," he said, in a soft voice, "listen, Hermione, everything will be okay. Just concentrate on getting yourself warmed-up, all right? Even if we don't find the cabin there's bound to be a house or a road around here, but we're not going to find it standing here worrying about not finding it," he told her in a tone much more patient and reassuring than Hermione knew he possessed.

"Okay," she told him, shivering slightly at the cold beginning to seep through the cloak she was wearing—a clock she realized she had not been wearing when the train had crashed. Looking down at its inordinately long sleeves, she came to the realization that it was Ron's cloak; he must have put it on her while she was unconscious…how long _had_ she been out for?

"Ron, your cloak—" she began, making a motion to give it back.

"No, you keep it; I've got a jumper in my bag if I need one," he told her as he gathered his things and began leading the way.

"Wait, what about my trunk?" Hermione asked, immediately feeling stupid. Here they were struggling to stay alive and she was thinking about her books. She looked around her, and realized that her trunk had been completely destroyed…half of it lay buried in the snow, while its contents had been thrown out, most either irretrievable or already buried from the flurry still falling upon them. She expected Ron to point out her shallow request to her, but he seemed to think her point somewhat valid as he walked towards a brown lump barely visible in the snow…it was her copy of _Hogwarts: A History_, possibly the heaviest volume she owned, and the only one that had survived the crash. He put it in his bag with the rest of his things.

"Come on," he told her, holding-out his hand. She took it without question…the ground was terribly uneven and even if she hadn't suffered a head wound she would have had trouble walking on it…and the silently began the long trek up the path.

~*~

They had been walking for what seemed like hours. Hermione's feet felt as if they were about to fall off and the pain in her head had graduated from a dull thud to a sharp stabbing sensation every time she took a step, or did as little as blink. She thought she was at the end of her rope, about to keel over from exhaustion when she felt Ron squeeze her hand and give her arm a little tug.

"Look," he whispered, and Hermione obliged him, not understanding at first what it was he wanted her to see, then she noticed just a hint of a shadow in the horizon. Upon further inspection she noticed that the shadow was suspiciously house-shaped. "Come on," Ron said, pulling her along as they made their way to the house, their spirits slightly revived. The pain in Hermione's head no longer seemed so bad, and the cold in her feet and fingers no longer seemed as biting. It took them almost a half-hour before they reached the cabin, but Hermione didn't care. She would be able to rest, soon.

~*~

Head wounds always bled a lot—at least that was Hermione's understanding from a mediwitch textbook she had once read. Still, she had never experienced it first hand, and from the feel of it she had a regular vein pumping directly below her wound. Ron seemed worried about it. As soon as they'd reached the caving—was completely deserted, and completely empty save for a broken table and a mouldy sofa—he'd insisted she sit down and had begun fussing over her…she supposed he _did_ have reason to worry. She was cold, and faint, and had been shivering uncontrollably for the last several minutes. Still, she put-on a brave face and shooed-him away, insisting that she was all right and that all she needed was a fire to warm up. There was a large stone fireplace in the one-room cabin; all Ron had to do was take-out his wand, and…Hermione cringed. Ron didn't have his wand with him. He had put it in her trunk because his bag had been nearly full. Her own wand was also in there—they were without magic. Ron seemed to read her mind.

"Don't worry, Herm, it's under control. Muggles don't have magic, and they can start fires just fine." Hermione looked skeptical, but Ron reached into his bag and took out several objects including her copy of _Hogwarts: A History_, and a small, square, metal object which Hermione recognized as being a Muggle lighter.

"Where'd you get that?" she asked him, at which he grinned.

"Dad gave it to me for my birthday. It's a fire machine; Muggles use them to light their fags with, but you can light a lot more things with them like candles, and, in our case, fireplaces." He had also taken his maroon jumper from the bag and handed it to her. Her teeth were chattering so hard that she thought her jaw would shatter at any second. "Go on, put it on," he urged, "the wind might not get to us in here, but this cabin is still like an ice box."

Hermione took the sweater reluctantly and put it on. It was cold as it had been in Ron's bag, but it would soon warm her up. She tentatively put her nose to the collar and inhaled. Ron was busy taking apart the wooden table and putting the pieces in the fireplace and wasn't paying attention to her. His jumper smelled spicy, like cinnamon and cloves—she loved the smell of his cologne. She had bought him the bottle for Christmas last year, at the time worrying that it was too personal a gift, the kind of thing she would buy her boyfriend. Ron had not mentioned anything about it, however, and he'd worn the cologne every day since. 

She looked at him, now, bent over the opening of the fireplace, stacking pieces of wood into it. She thought of Ron's words to her when she had thought he had been about to kiss her on the train: _"We'll play it your way…but only for now." _They had been a promise of sorts, a statement of things to come, and Hermione realized how much she had _wanted_ him to kiss her in the train. It would not have been the first time they would have kissed, but it _would_ have been the first time they acknowledge the fact that they both wanted it to happen and were ready to face the repercussions.

**FLASHBACK**

__

"You are the most insufferable, incorrigible, most vile excuse for a friend I have ever met. How can you even stand there and pretend to try and support me when all you can do is criticize my decisions," Hermione yelled at Ron in the empty common room.

"Well maybe I'd be more supportive if your 'decisions' as you call them didn't involve making googley eyes at a perfect stranger who's practically twice your age!" Ron yelled back. It seemed as if they'd run circles around this subject for weeks.

"There you go again, making judgements about someone you don't even know. Like it or not, Ronald Weasley, Viktor Kr—" Hermione was abruptly cut-off as Ron kissed her. She stood shocked for a minute before kissing him back. Seconds later they broke apart, Hermione's eyes wide as saucers and Ron's ears so red they practically glowed.

"Right, err," Ron spoke, and cleared his throat, "well, shall we go down to dinner, then?" he asked, changing the subject and putting an end to the fight. Hermione, unable to speak for the simple reason that she was mortified, and curiously exhilarated, merely nodded and followed him silently out of the portrait hole. She wouldn't have been able to say anything right then, anyway, even if her life had depended on it.

**END FLASHBACK**

They had not done so much as mention the events in passing, let alone talk about what had happened between them since that day.

"What are you thinking?" Ron asked, pulling Hermione abruptly out of her reveries.

"Nothing," Hermione answered, her fingers involuntarily rubbing her mouth as if the feel of Ron's lips still lingered there.

"Well, in that case can you pass me that book?" he asked her, referring to the copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ that he had pulled out of his bag minutes before. Hermione took the book and passed it to him, wondering what he was going to do with it…surely reading could wait until later. She realized too late, what his purpose with the book had been, and before she could protest (it was, after all, her favorite textbook,) he had ripped-out several pages, and stuffed them under the wood in the fireplace.

"I know the teachers always tell us our textbooks are our most useful tools, but I doubt they had this particular use in mind when they fed us that bollocks," he grinned, before lighting the paper on fire. Soon, the flames had made their way to the dry wood of the table, and the room was filled with dancing light and warmth that immediately made Hermione drowsy. Had she had more energy, she would, at the very least, yelled at Ron for defacing school property—_her_ school property, no less, but at the moment, as her eyes slowly drifted closed, all she could think about was sleep.


	2. Rejection

Disclaimer: Harry Potter etc. are the intellectual property of JKR; no infringement is intended.

****

Chapter 2: Rejection

"Woah, hey, Hermione!" Ron said to her. She could hear his voice, though it sounded very far away. She had only closed her eyes; she wanted to sleep. Why was he talking to her?

"Mmph, g'way!" came her muffled reply. She was so sleepy; her head hurt, and she felt strangely woozy.

"Hermione, open your eyes; look at me, Hermione," Ron was telling her, and he was shaking her shoulders. She tried to shrug him away, tried to go more deeply in the warm enveloping feeling that had begun to overtake her, but when Ron started patting her cheeks—a little too vigorously for her to be able to ignore it—she forced her eyes open, and shrank back slightly.

"What are you _doing_?" she asked Ron, trying to ignore the fact that his face was dangerously close to hers—why, if she just tilted her head a little bit to the left…_no_! She had to stop thinking that way! Ron was her best friend, her very good-looking best friend, sure, and didn't he look particularly sexy right then with worry lining his every feature? His lips looked so plump and inviting, and he'd let his hair grow so that it hung a little past his collar in soft auburn waves, and right then, the way he was looking at her with his soulful blue eyes, she had never wanted him more than—_no, no, no_! By Job, she was completely beyond professional help. "I must have hit my head harder than I thought," she muttered miserably before remembering that Ron had most rudely awoken her seconds before. She glared at him and waited to hear his explanation.

"Whatever you do, you can't fall asleep," he told her. She looked like she was ready to kill him for wasting her time with trivial issues…quite honestly, she was perfectly prepared to do him severe bodily harm if he didn't leave her alone and let her get some sleep.

"I'm warning you, Ron, I'm tired and I'm cranky. Don't give me that rubbish about not being allowed to fall asleep. I can do whatever I bloody well feel like," she told him, not bothering to watch her language. If Ron was surprised to hear her curse, he didn't let it on.

"You don't understand what I'm saying, Herm. You hit your head hard and you lost consciousness. You, in all likelihood, have a concussion and if you fall asleep, you might not wake up." He was talking to her in that patient, kind voice, again. Hermione almost wished he would yell at her. That way, she would have an excuse to hurt him.

"And what do you know about concussions? You're no mediwitch."

"No, but you forget that I love Quidditch. My brothers and I have been playing it since we were young. I've fallen off my broom plenty of times, as have my brothers. I may not be a mediwitch, like you said, but when it comes to Quidditch injuries the lot of which include concussions, I'm well-versed." His tone was still patient, although it was just forceful enough to let Hermione know that he knew what he was talking about, and that he didn't want any trouble coming from her.

"Fine," Hermione said, but in a tone that clearly told him that she wasn't impressed. 

Ron, who had been kneeling on the ground, got up and came to sit on the sofa, next to Hermione who couldn't quite decide whether she was grateful, or disappointed that their faces were no longer inches apart. "I don't know how I'm going to stay awake, Ron; I already feel as if I'm about to keel-over."

"You just need to keep yourself occupied," Ron told her as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Obviously, he had no idea what it felt like to encounter a trunk with one's skull.

"And how exactly do you suggest I do that?" she asked, and bitterly looked at the destroyed copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ before adding, "reading is out, what else is there to do in this place?" She looked over at Ron who was grinning evilly and was suggestively lifting his eyebrows in response to her question. Hermione rolled her eyes, and sighed impatiently, "Besides _that_," she told him.

"Oh, come on, you're no fun, Hermione. You said it, there's nothing better to do, and it's not like you haven't been thinking about getting the chance to since fourth year, at least This may be your last chance, you know; I might come to my senses soon," he joked, although Hermione wasn't sure _how_ much of it he was making up, and if perhaps he was only 'half-joking'.

"You know, I think I'll pass, Ron. I mean, I wouldn't want to bore you with my lack of fun," she snapped. "Besides, I don't think my head could take it, right now," she added, her tone more serious as she winced. Her head really _was_ pounding badly. The grin that had been on Ron's face a second ago quickly faded, and the look of concern was back on his face.

"I think you're still bleeding," he told her, "Here, let me see," he said, sliding over so that he was once again only inches from her. Their legs touched, and although Hermione felt herself shiver at the contact, Ron didn't even seem to notice. "I'd better clean this up and bandage it," he said, looking at her wound. He went to his bag and pulled-out a small, number two pewter cauldron from it.

"Since when do you carry cauldrons in your bag?" Hermione asked him, skeptical.

"I got it in Diagon Alley, this morning while you had breakfast at the Leaky Cauldron. Neville melted my last one last time we worked together in Potions, don't you remember?"

Now that he mentioned it, Hermione did recall his having mentioned something about needing a new number two cauldron. "What else do you have in there?" she asked, stretching her neck as if to peer into the bag, although from her vantagepoint she wouldn't be able to make anything out. "You wouldn't have a Muggle mobile would you? I only ask because in our case it could prove quite useful." She attempted a smile, but couldn't quite achieve it—she was too tired and in too much pain to smile, right now.

"Sorry to disappoint you. From now on it's butterbeer, sweets, and clean underthings. No more surprises in _this_ bag," he grinned, then turned serious again. "Can I trust you not to fall asleep for two minutes?" he asked her, and she nodded. He went out the door with the cauldron, and returned a minute later with it filled with snow. He closed the cabin door as quickly as he could behind him, but the sharp, cold wind from outside still made its way in. Hermione shivered.

"Sorry," Ron apologized, looking sheepish. He put the cauldron near the fire to melt the snow, and knelt in front of the flames for a few seconds, rubbing his hands and holding them close to the flames.

"Ron, you're freezing," Hermione said, feeling guilty about acting so helpless, and pathetic, while Ron was stuck looking after her. She took the cloak she was wearing over the jumper she had put on earlier, and stood-up to drape it on Ron's shoulders.

"Hermione, you need this more than I do; you're hurt," he told her, and tried to give her back the cloak, but she wouldn't take it.

"I'm okay, Ron," she lied, determined not to play damsel in distress, "I feel one hundred percent better," she said, determined to stand her ground, but her eyes chose that particular moment to go out of focus again, and she swayed slightly. Ron was at her side in a flash, steadying her. She tried to push him away, disgusted with herself for being so _weak_.

"Stop trying to act the hero, Hermione; you don't need to impress me any more than you already have. I _already_ think of you as the most courageous woman I know, and your endurance tonight only reinforced that notion. Sit down, and concentrate on taking care of yourself, now, okay? Let me worry about taking care of myself for once." 

Hermione looked at Ron, looked into his eyes, and instead of seeing contempt for her acting like such a –_girl—_she saw respect, and admiration.She nodded in resignation, and let Ron lead her to the sofa where she sat. Ron turned back to his pewter cauldron, where the snow had melted to water, which was now warm. Ron took an undershirt from his bag and used it to carry the hot cauldron from the fireplace to the sofa. He then took the undershirt and ripped several long strips from it.

Hermione didn't protest when Ron sat next to her and turned her head slightly to look at her wound. His fingers tenderly moved Hermione's hair aside, and dipped the biggest remaining piece of his now wrecked undershirt into the warm water of the cauldron, and proceeded to clean her cut. The water stung when it came in contact with her wound, but Hermione clenched her teeth together and refused to whine. Only once, when Ron went over a particularly sensitive spot, did she inhale sharply, at which he immediately apologized.

"You're going to have to wash your hair a few times before you manage to get all this caked-up blood out of it," he told her, holding a strand of her hair between his fingers. It was dark, and hardened because of the insane amount of blood that had been pouring out of her head. "Just how did you manage to do this to yourself?" Ron asked her, wiping away at her cut some more, before taking another strip of his torn-up under0shirt and drying the wound, patting at it gently.

"My trunk," Hermione explained," I was thrown into it when the train car rolled down the embankment." Ron nodded at her explanation, but did not offer any more thoughts until her head had been bandaged.

"There," Ron said, as he finished wrapping the last of the strips around her head, and tucked-it under the one beneath. "You look just like a soldier, with that bandage," he told her smiling, examining his handy-work.

"I can imagine," Hermione muttered, " I must look a fright," she said. It was a good thing Hermione didn't carry a mirror with her like Parvati or Lavender did, because as little as she usually cared about her appearance, she was certain that if she could see herself now, even she wouldn't be able to ignore how terrible she looked.

"You look fine," Ron told her, tucking a stray piece of her hair behind her ear. "In fact, I think you look more than fine," he said, although more quietly. He looked into her eyes, and Hermione was captivated by his cerulean gaze. The cut above his eyebrow had sealed itself, and his jaw was now a myriad o f blues, purples, and yellows. One of his sleeves was torn, revealing strong biceps…Hermione had never seen him look more virile.

"Ron," Hermione started, almost pleadingly, ready to protest, to push him away so that his mere closeness wouldn't make her heart beat in frenzy. Her head was filled with excuses to tell him, things to say that would make him go away, but she couldn't bring herself to utter them. Ron was looking at her, his eyes questioning as if silently asking whether she knew what she was doing. When she didn't protest further, Ron lowered his lips to hers.

Hermione closed her eyes and breathed-in the cinnamon and cloves scent that she would forever associate with Ron. His lips were soft, yet firm—he was a good kisser; Hermione had always known he would be. This kiss was different from the one they had shared in the common room, however. It was anticipated, and welcomed; it made Hermione feel light-headed—although that _could_ have been from blood loss—but it also made her feel wanted, cared for. Ron's hand was on her shoulder, the other on her cheek, lazily stroking its soft skin. When she felt Ron's tongue run over her lips, beckoning for entry, Hermione did not hesitate before opening her lips and deepening the kiss. Her arms instinctively moved around Ron's neck to play with his hair, and she felt his arms encircle her waist, drawing her closer until she was pressed against him. A soft moan escaped the back of Hermione's throat and Ron reluctantly pulled-away. His face was flushed, his breathing ragged, and his lips swollen.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he told her. "You're hurt; I shouldn't be taking advantage."

__

Sure, Hermione thought,_ leave it to Ron to pick this exact moment to start acting chivalrous._

Hermione nodded, though she wished he hadn't stopped kissing her so quickly, and moved back to her previous spot on the sofa. She looked down at her hands, and burst-out crying although she had no idea why.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Ron asked, soothingly, gathering her up in his arms once again. "I didn't think my kissing was _that_ bad," he said, and Hermione laughed lightly between the sobs that racked her body. She grabbed fistfuls of Ron's shirt as she cried into his chest. She cried for what seemed an eternity, until she could cry no more, and then she just clung to Ron, reveling in the feel of his arms around her, and of the beat of his heart in her ear.

"I'm sorry," she said finally, looking up at Ron. Now, more than ever, she was glad she didn't have a mirror handy. She could just imagine how she looked with red, puffy eyes, a swollen face, and a stuffy nose. Ron didn't even seem to notice how dreadful she looked.

"It's okay," he told her, kissing her lightly on the forehead. "It's the shock. Everything just finally caught-up to you, that's all."

"I don't know what's wrong with me, Ron; I feel so _useless_. If it wasn't for you, I know I wouldn't have made it this far; I would probably still be lying unconscious next to that train wreck. I'm usually good at everything I try, but today I was like those stupid gits in Muggle movies who have to be rescued all the time because they have no brain cells and can't seem to keep themselves out of trouble, I—" Ron stopped her before her self-criticizing got out of hand by tilting her chin so that her eyes met his, and proceeding to lightly touch her lips with the ends of his fingertips.

"Some of the bravest men I know wouldn't have gotten ten feet up that hill with a head wound like yours. Some of the toughest, strongest people I know wouldn't have lasted as long as you have before completely breaking down, not to mention the fact that with all you've been through, you're still taking the time to worry about whether or not _I'm_ cold, or the fact that for the past three hours you've been trying so hard to make is seem as if nothing's wrong with you. 

"Stop being so hard on yourself, Hermione, because I'm telling you right now that you're far from stupid, or useless, or helpless. I don't resent taking care of you…on the contrary, it's a welcome change from having you nagging me to do my homework or wear an extra layer, or wash my hands before dinner, and you know that if the roles were reversed, it would be you sitting here telling me not to worry about making impressions because God knows, Hermione, that you've _already_ made an impression on me." As Ron's speech had progressed, his voice had become softer, until it was a mere whisper. His eyes never once left Hermione's, and by the time he had finished, her eyes had once again filled with tears, only they were very different tears from the ones that had spilled-over earlier. Hermione managed to find a smile, as a tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. Ron caught it with his thumb and wiped it away.

"Thanks, Ron; that means more to me than you know," she told him, her voice cracking. Ron nodded, for apparently he no longer trusted his voice to last him, and pulled Hermione head to his chest. They stayed in that position, each caught-up in their own thoughts as they stared into the flames, before Hermione broke the silence. "Ron?" she said, her head still on his chest.

"Yes?"

"Your kissing, isn't bad," she said, looking up to gauge his reaction before speaking more boldly. "I think you kiss rather well, if truth be told," she said, to which Ron smiled. They stayed silent for a few more seconds. "And Ron?" she said, again.

"Yes, Hermione?" he whispered, drawing circles lazily on her back.

"I do _not_ nag," she told him, at which Ron burst-out laughing.

"Yes, you do," he told her, and before she could protest, he kissed her again. It was soft, and sweet, and shorter than the last kiss, but Hermione felt light-headed and breathless all the same. It was surprising what an effect such a small thing could have on her when it came from Ron. When she looked-up at Ron, she was surprised to find an expression of worry, and doubt. She was about to ask him what was wrong, but before she could get the words out of her mouth, Ron had released her, and was struggling to get his cloak on.

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked him, wondering what had happened to make him go from kissing her, to wanting to get as far away from her as he possibly could.

"I need to get some wood," he told her, and Hermione couldn't help but notice how he was avoiding her gaze. "The fire's not going to last forever, and the snow isn't letting up. It might be a little longer than we thought before someone can come back through here and look for us," he said, looking everywhere but where she actually was.

"Alright," Hermione said, feeling dejected. She was about to suggest her going with him, but knew that Ron was only using the wood as an excuse to get away from her. She watched, as Ron turned towards the door. He paused when he reached it, his door on the handle.

"If you feel as if you're about to fall asleep, or if anything happens, I won't be far…just holler," he said, and then he was gone, leaving a gust of cold air and a swirl of snow behind him. Hermione lowered her face in her hands, and cried.


	3. A Lesson in Humility

Disclaimer: Harry Potter etc. are the intellectual property of JKR; no infringement is intended. The line that Hermione is referring to is from the movie _Someone Like You_ starring Hugh Jackman and Ashley Judd.

****

Chapter 3: A Lesson in Humility

When Hermione heard the door open and close once more, she barely looked up. Ron had been gone for nearly a half-hour during which time she had gotten control of her tears. She heard the sound of Ron's footsteps in front of her and the unmistakable hollow sound of wood being stacked. She lifted her head from her knees and looked at him. His back was to her and the flickering flames danced provocatively over his frame, bringing out the orange hues in his hair. Hermione fought back a new wave of tears that threatened to spill out at any moment. Why hadn't he looked at her when he'd come in? Why hadn't he spoken to her? Was she really that undesirable? Maybe he hadn't been as oblivious to her disheveled appearance as she had originally thought. That was the only plausible reason Hermione could come up with—he had kissed her and suddenly realized how revolting she was, and had had to leave to save face. Certainly if it had been Lavender, or Parvati, or—God forbid—Fleur Delacour, he would have been more than content to snog all night. It made perfect sense now!

Hermione quickly went from feeling sorry for herself to feeling very angry with Ron. How dare he discriminate against her based on her looks alone? Had she not put-up with his antics for _seven_ years? Had she not had to deal with his jealousy over Viktor Krum until she'd _finally_ made him see how idiotic he was being? Well, obviously! If this wasn't just like a…like a _guy_! They were remarkably like fish, men were—they all flocked to shiny objects. Well Hermione wasn't shiny, and she never would be. She had no desire to conform to everyone's opinions of how she should look or act, and Ron of all people should have understood that, but _no_, he flirted shamelessly with her for three years, had kissed her on two separate occasions, had even hinted at the fact that he had more than platonic feelings for her, and the second she started looking less than ideal he ran away like a scared animal.

"Well, honestly!" Hermione screamed in frustration, and before she realized what she was doing, she had grabbed the cauldron full of water, had made her way the few feet necessary to cross the room, and had dumped it over his head. Ron, needless to say, was taken off-guard, and the second the water hit his head and back (it had cooled considerably since he'd cleaned Hermione's wound with it) he stood up, drawing-in a sharp breath.

"What was that for!?" he asked, hair hanging in his face and dripping water down the front of his shirt. Hermione was temporarily distracted for she was watching the white fabric become translucent as dampness set-in and it began to cling to his skin. Hermione gulped, her eyes wide. She realized Ron had addressed her.

"Well, if you don't know," she said scathingly, "I'm not going to tell you." Now what did _that _sound so familiar? Regardless, she stomped away from him and towards the corner of the room where she looked out the window. It was till snowing—worst than ever—and the wind was howling. Although the window was in one piece, Hermione could still feel the cold chill seeping-in through the frame. She was grateful for it, however. She was suddenly feeling very warm and flushed, and pictures of Ron's chest through his wet shirt kept flashing into her mind. A new wave of self-pity hit, and Hermione couldn't help but wish that for once in her life, a guy she had strong feelings for might finally reciprocate her sentiments—just once so she might finally know that she _was_ desirable even if she wasn't a super model. A line from a movie popped into her mine: "All men don't leave all women…all men leave _me_." _Story of my life_, Hermione thought, _although I'd have to find a man who would have me first before that could even begin to apply_. A tear silently rolled down her cheek, but she wiped it away angrily. There would be no more crying on her part tonight…she wasn't going to let Ron know he had gotten to her, that was the main reason, but she also refused to turn into one of those women who started crying at the drop of a hat (or the break of a nail). The fact that she'd already broken down twice in one night was cause enough to call the _Guinness Book of World Records_ as it was.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" Ron's voice broke through her train of thoughts. He was standing behind her; Hermione could see his reflection in the window and she didn't bother turning around.

"Like I said; if you don't know, I'm not going to bother explaining it in words you'll understand," she said, a little more harshly than she'd intended. No matter, it would have the effect she desired. He would get angry, start yelling at her, they would get into a blazing row, and then she'd have an excuse to tell him just what she thought about him at that very instant—minus all those sexy wet shirt thoughts, of course. That was the beauty of head wounds…in the morning, she would be able to blame her behavior on temporary insanity. Hermione realized she was holding her breath, waiting for Ron to respond, but all he did was mutter 'fine', and Hermione watched his reflection as he turned-around and pulled his shirt over his head, not bothering to unbutton it first.

"What are you doing!?" she asked in a slightly (okay, very) panicked voice as she herself turned around so she was looking that the back of the real Ron, not just his reflection. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes skimmed over the muscled plains of his back and shoulders.

"What the hell does it look like I'm doing?" Ron retorted. Hermione was hoping and praying he wouldn't turn around; she had enough trouble dealing with the sight of his bare back without having to see his naked—oh, bloody hell! He _had _to turn around, didn't he? Hermione could just imagine how she looked with her mouth wide open and her eyes wide as her gaze skimmed up and down his toned stomach, the small patch of red hair on his chest, and the trail running from bellow his navel into the waistline of his pants. _Bring on the drool, and my humiliation will be complete_, she thought bitterly to herself. Luckily, Ron wasn't paying attention to her. He was too busy yelling at her. Hermione made it a point to try and listen.

"—pour water over me for no bloody reason whatsoever. Did you just expect me to stay wet and freeze to death? I'm sure you would like that, wouldn't you? For the life of me I will never figure women out." He finished, retrieving a short-sleeved white tee shirt from his bag and pulling it over his head, mussing his hair in the process. He gruffly ran his hands through it, attempting to rule it, and his shirt rode-up a few inches to reveal that same trail that had so captivated Hermione's attention minutes before. _What is wrong with me!?_ Hermione frantically scolded herself. _You'd think I was some kind of depraved harlot!_ She forced herself to look away before she made an even bigger fool of herself.

Hermione had always thought that women who threw themselves at men were pathetic, reproachable creatures, yet at this very moment she knew exactly how they must have felt. Again, she reveled at the notion that Ron could have such a strong effect on her. In retrospect, she realized that he was the only man who had ever made her feel this way. Even when she had dated Viktor Krum (as briefly as that interlude had lasted), she had never had the inclination to kiss him or be held by him as she did with Ron, and as strong of a sexual attraction as she did possess towards her best friend, she knew that it went far beyond that. Her feelings were much more deeply rooted than she was willing to admit—even to herself. That's why it had hurt her so badly hen he had rejected her, earlier. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned-around reluctantly.

"I'm sorry," Ron told her when she turned around.

"For what?" Hermione asked, confused as to what incident in particular he was apologizing for.

"To be honest with you, I have no idea," he told her. "I'm sorry for whatever I did that made you so angry that you felt the need to drench me from head to foot, for one," he continued, looking more sheepish every second. Hermione couldn't help it…she burst-out laughing. She was still furious with him—well maybe furious was too strong a word—but for the first time in his life, Ron had actually _apologized_ to her. He had admitted his faults without question (and without recognizing whether he really _was_ at fault); he was trying to be the better person, and Hermione was eternally grateful for it. She got a hold of her sudden mirth, and pulled Ron down into a tight hug.

"I'm sorry too," she told him, her heart beating frantically at their closeness. As much as it hurt that Ron wasn't attracted to her, she knew it would hurt more if she lost him completely—oh, what a weakling she had become to give-up all her principles and forget all her reasons for being angry just because he had smiled at her: she _hated_ when he did that!

"Well, I forgive you," he said, in a suddenly passive tone before pulling-away abruptly and walking to towards the fireplace where he began poking at the logs with a stick. He had done it _again_! This time, Hermione did not start crying…she did not even start yelling.

"That's it," she said, her voice very impatient, but also very cold. "Ron Weasley, you are going to tell me what has gotten over you this very instant!" she told him, enunciating every syllable. Her voice was very calm, and that in itself told her that she meant business and was not to be dealt with lightly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he told her, not turning around—oh what a stupid boy he was.

"Is that so? You don't know what I'm talking about? Well let me refresh your memory for you as it's obviously lacking in longevity," her voice was not as calm as it had been moments before: the storm was about to break through. "You're the one who was complaining about us skirting around the issue, earlier, well you'll be happy to learn that I'm about to be more forthright than you've ever seen me," she paused to catch her breath.

"Hermione, I—" Ron tried to get a word in edgewise. Hermione cut him off abruptly with a lift of her hand. Her cinnamon eyes were radiating fury.

"No; You wanted us to discuss," she searched for the right word, "_this_" she finally settled for, gesturing between the two of them, "well we're going to discuss it, and you are going to listen up and shut your mouth while we do," she was beginning to get irrational, she knew it, but at this point she was too angry to care. "First you start acting all provocative on the train, with all that rubbish about '_what would you do if I kissed you right now', _and '_oh, Hermione, my neck hurts won't you massage it for me?_'" Ron looked like e wanted to point out to her that _she_ had been the one to actually initiate the massage, but he obviously thought better of it and kept his mouth firmly calmed shut. Hermione, at this point, had begun to pace back and forth. "And _then,_ you started acting all heroic and noble so that I wouldn't have any other choice but to be drawn to you…"

Ron couldn't resist, a grin spread over his face. "You were _drawn_ to me, eh?"

"Shut up!" Hermione snapped, "you know perfectly well I couldn't have reacted any other way, and then—and _then_," her pace slowed and she began to enunciate…that could only mean one thing: she was _really_ angry. "You actually had the gall to give me that '_you've made an impression on me_' speech, knowing full well how I would react. And, just when I was putty in your hand you came in for the kill: you kissed me—twice!—and you know what? I _liked_ it," Ron was smiling again but Hermione shot him a look that could have burned a hole through concrete, and he had to chomp hard on his bottom lip to suppress his grin. "I admit it…I liked it…just like you _knew_ I would, but that _was_ your little plan, wasn't it? Wrap Hermione around your little finger and then throw her away just to prove you can get to her! That's why you up and ran, earlier, and _that's_ why you practically _threw_ me off of you a second ago when I hugged you. Well, Ronald Weasley, you are the most despicable, most vile _excuse_ for a human being I have ever had the displeasure to meet! I thought you were different from all the other guys. I thought you were _special_ because you were my best friend, but you're not are you? No, you're just like everybody else—driven by appearances. You wouldn't dare picture yourself being with Hermione Granger, because Hermione's not pretty: she's got bushy hair and she doesn't care about makeup or clothes. Hermione's just a know-it-all, Hermione is—" _referring to herself in the third person?_ a voice said inside her head, and she changed tactics. "_I_ am just not good enough for you, is that it? Well I should have known; I should have known that this wouldn't work out and that I've been fooling myself all these years, but this is just another proof that reality is nothing like fantasy. If _I_ had been 'pretty' like Fleur, or Parvati and Padma, or Lavender, you would never have left. If it had been one of them you would have been perfectly content to snog—or maybe even shag, though I shudder to think about _that_—all night. Well I'm sorry I'm not beautiful, Ron. I'm sorry you couldn't have been stranded her with someone worth your while. Don't try to deny it, either, Ron, because I know if Little Miss Beauxbatons were to walk up to you right now and say to you '_oh Ron, you are positively ze most wonderfool man I 'ave ever met, kiss me now_' or some equally trashy rubbish you wouldn't be walking out of the room any time soon." Hermione finished giving Ron a piece of her mind, and collapsed on the sofa, exhausted from the pacing, and yelling. She clutched one hand to the side of her head as her concussion made itself known to her. Ron made a move to go over, but Hermione glared at him once more.

"_No;_ I don't want you near me. I can't stand the sight of you, anymore," she spat, and Ron's face fell slightly.

"Blimey, don't I even get a word in?" he asked, his voice slightly raised.

"No." Hermione said, letting go of her pounding head. Her tone implied finality but Ron chose to ignore it.

"Well too bloody bad, because I'm not going to stand here and let you accuse me of all that bollocks without at least having my say," he began, determined to have Hermione hear him out. "Now let me start by telling you that you're completely right: if I was stuck here with Lavender or Parvati, or Fleur and they threw themselves at me, you better believe I wouldn't turn them down. I'm a guy, Hermione; what guy _wouldn_'_t_ turn them down? Well, maybe Crabbe and Goyle would but then again I've always wondered just _how _close a relationship those two have. Still, Lavender and Parvati and Fleur are beautiful women, and if I were stuck here with one of them in this cabin instead of you, I can honestly say with one percent certainty that I would consider it my duty as a healthy male to try and get at least _some _action." Ron had moved towards the sofa as he said this. Hermione tried hard not to cry; she had promised herself earlier that she wouldn't, and she was hell bent on keeping that promise to herself. How _could _he? How could he just stand there and hurt her like that knowing full well how she felt about him? She'd just about spelled it out for him seconds before and here he was _voluntarily_ breaking her heart. Hermione stood, and slapped him hard across the face…so hard, in fact, that his head rocked backwards at the contact. The slap wasn't enough, however, and soon Hermione was throwing punches at his arms and chest. She wanted to hurt him, wanted him to feel how much he was hurting her. The tears poured down her cheek before Hermione could stop them. Ron had been startled by the initial slap but he'd quickly recovered, and Hermione had only landed a few hits before he'd grabbed her wrists. He wasn't forceful at all, in fact the gentle grip he had on her surprised Hermione.

"How dare you say that to me!" she told him, her voice betraying the hurt she felt.

"I'm sorry, Herm; you brought it up, and I admit that it's true, but you didn't let me finish. Please let me finish," he told her, as he wiped away one of her tears with the back of his index finger. "I didn't mean to hurt you, but I had no other choice. I had to make you see," he began, but Hermione once again cut him off.

"I don't want to hear this, Ron, I already know what you're going to say," she told him, her voice almost inaudible now.

"Just listen, Herm. For once in your life, just listen to what I have to say without jumping to conclusions. Of course if the opportunity presented itself I would take it, and it's true that if I were stranded with anyone other than you—provided that they're female and don't bare the slightest resemblance to Millicent Bulstrode—the situation would have unrolled itself very differently, but it's not because of what you think. The reason something like that can't happen with you is because I care about you. I don't care about Lavender, or Parvati, or even Fleur. If I kissed them, it would be empty. I could never feel about them the way I feel about you. If you think that I've been acting like a complete arse all night because I don't think you're attractive, then you are _not_ the smart witch I thought you were. Hermione, you are the most beautiful person I have ever laid eyes on. Not only are you beautiful on the outside, but more importantly you're beautiful on the inside. You're the most caring, most loving person I know, and you're my best friend. _You_ are the one I want to be with, Hermione, and if I've been running away from you all night, it's not because I didn't want to be with you—it's because I wanted to be with you _so_ _much_ that I was afraid. When I'm with you, I feel like everything else around me is a blur. I can't think straight, half the time I can't even walk straight, and worst of all I start acting like a complete prat, although you don't seem to notice, but then I suppose you're used to having a prat for a best friend after all these years. When I'm with you, it's like all circulation has been cut from my brain. You are the most incredible person I know, and you _have_ made an impression on me. I thought I'd made my feelings for you clear when I kissed you, but then when we kissed again, I didn't want to let you go…if I kiss you, I don't think I'll _ever_ be able to let you go. You've hurt your head, and you may not have your full judgement. I didn't want to spend this incredible night with you to have you regret it in the morning, Hermione. I don't think I could handle that," he said. His eyes were a little misty, and his voice was becoming choked. His grip on Hermione was no longer strong enough that she couldn't have pulled away had she wanted to, but she didn't want to. Ron was forced to look away as he regained control, and when turned back it was towards a smiling Hermione.

"You _are_ a prat, you know," she whispered as more tears spilled, although these were very different from the previous bout, when a look of realization came over her face. "Oh, Ron; I'm _so_ sorry about your face!" she said, pulling her arm away to touch the rapidly forming red welt with the tips of her fingers. Ron winced, but he was smiling too.

"It's okay, I deserved it," he said, grabbing her hand in his. "Hermione, we shouldn't be doing this…I mean I _want_ to do this—more than you probably know—but your head."

"My head feels a lot better now, Ron, and I don't care how hard I get hit: I could never regret spending time like this with you," she told him. Ron's arms went around her as he pulled her in a hug. Hermione felt warm and safe as she buried her face in his chest, her ear pressed against him so that she could hear his heart beat. The familiar scent of his cologne filled her nostrils, and she inhaled deeply. "I'll never get tired of this," she whispered, in a drowsy state.

"I'll never get tired of you," Ron whispered as he kissed the top of her head, "but as much as I hate to let you go, you're falling asleep."

"No I'm not," Hermione denied, although it was only a half-hearted attempt. She yawned and scuttled closer to Ron, drifting just on the edge of slumber. He let her go—although he did so gently, and with care. His hands remained on her arms, as if he didn't want to break contact totally.

"Yes you are," he smiled, giving her arms a slight squeeze. Hermione smiled back at him.

"It's not my fault, there's nothing to do in here," she said.

"I have an idea," Ron said, and Hermione rolled her eyes—_boys._

"Come on, Ron, I thought we went over this earlier," she said, although she had a hint of a smile on her lips.

"Hmm, as tempting as that sounds," Ron replied, the same smile appearing on his face, "for once that's _not_ what I was referring to."

"Really?" Hermione asked, her curiosity suddenly piqued…this _had_ to be something special.

"Don't look so surprised," he laughed, a bemused expression on his face. "You know when I told you earlier there were no more surprises in my bag?" Hermione nodded. "Well I lied, there's one more."

"What?" Hermione asked, any drowsiness she had felt earlier having vanished.

"Your Christmas present," Ron told her in a conspiratorial voice, as he walked towards the other end of the cabin to retrieve his bag.


	4. A Good Night's Sleep

Disclaimer: Harry Potter etc. are the intellectual property of JKR; no infringement is intended.

****

Chapter 4: A Good Night's Sleep

"But you gave me my present already," Hermione said, slightly confused but happy nonetheless. It was true: Harry, Ron, and Hermione had all exchanged their presents before leaving Hogwarts as they had been going to spend Christmas apart. Ron had gotten her a rhinestone studded cat collar for Crookshanks that had his name engraved on a mouse-shaped medallion. He had warmed-up to her cat considerably since third year and even though he didn't dare admit it, she had see Ron give Crookshanks an affectionate scratch behind the ear on more than one occasion when he'd thought no one was looking. Hermione had left Crookshanks in Ginny's care over the holiday, and she was infinitely glad for that now no matter how much she had missed her cat. He would never have made it through the train wreck alive.

"Well, that present was really more for Crookshanks than it was for you, wasn't it? And besides," he said, his ears turning red, "I wanted to give you this when we could be alone," he told her. He bent down and reached into his bag—Hermione couldn't help but take a peek at his backside as he did so. Ron stood abruptly and put both hands to cover himself when he heard her giggle behind him.

"Were you staring at my rump!?" he asked her, his ears turning red as he looked at her disbelievingly.

"Maybe I was," Hermione told him, still giggling. Tomorrow she would be amazed at how up front she had been tonight.

"I can't believe you—how was it?" he asked her, frowning slightly; Hermione only succeeded in giggling more.

"Well, on a scale of one to ten, I _suppose_—"

"You _suppose_?" Ron interjected, raising an eyebrow.

"Eleven and a half," Hermione told him, grinning broadly.

"Really?" Ron glowed, then turned so as to examine the cause of their discussion more closely. "I _do_ have a rather _shapely_ rear, don't I?" he said seriously, which only caused Hermione to laugh harder, holding her pounding head as she did so. "What?" Ron asked innocently.

"Oh, it's nothing," Hermione told him between chuckles, "you _do_ have a _very _nice rear."

"But?" Ron asked, sensing the exception.

"But Harry still beat you; Ginny gives _his_ backside an even twelve."

"Twelve!?" Ron asked, and then thought more carefully of what Hermione just sad. "What in the devil's name is _Ginny_ doing evaluating _Harry's_ backside!?"

"Well…" Hermione began, smiling at the flustered expression on his face.

"Oh, no; don't tell me, I'm not sure I want to know," he said, putting his fingers in his ears. He took them out a moment later to add: "Wait, does Harry _know_ Ginny's given him a twelve?" Hermione chuckled. "He _does_, doesn't he? Now I now why he stayed behind to 'keep her company' while everyone was in Paris. He fancies her!" Realization dawned over him.

"You're not going to have a conniption over this, are you?" Hermione asked him, both worried and amused by his reaction.

"Over the fact that my _best-friend_ wants to date my _sister_?" he said, "no, of _course_ not," his voice oozed sarcasm. He looked at Hermione and his eyes got wide. "What if I catch them snogging…or _worse_?" he asked, his face screwing up as he tried hard not to think about it. Hermione couldn't help but laugh. He was cute when he was all worried.

"Or worst yet, what is Ginny to do when she finds out that I've gone completely _bonkers_ over her brother?" she asked in mock dismay. Ron grinned.

"Ginny recognizes that I am a model individual. She will be happy that you have finally come to your senses," he grinned and Hermione grinned back. "Besides," Ron added, "I hardly call your affections for me 'going bonkers'. I believe you've been hit with one of those rare moments of true lucidity," he told her in his best professorial tone.

"Is that so?" Hermione asked playfully, rolling her eyes at his silliness.

"It is," Ron replied, "I have done extensive research on the subject," he told her. Ron had yet to retrieve the present from his bag, and Hermione and he were moving closer to each other every second.

"Research, eh? What kind of research?" Hermione asked, playing along. Ron and she were now directly in front of each other, and as she asked her question, she slipped her arms around his waist.

"Allow me to demonstrate," he whispered before lowering his mouth to hers. For the fourth time that night, they kissed. Ron's lips were soft on Hermione's and one of his hands came to rest behind her head as he tightened his other arm around her back, anchoring her. She was grateful for the steadying presence of that arm, because without it, she might have collapsed. It was not that the kiss was overly passionate—it was actually rather tame as far as kisses went—but whenever she was in such close contact with Ron she became light-headed, dizzy. She wondered if that feeling would ever go away—she wasn't sure she really wanted it to. Ron broke the kiss gently and rested his forehead against hers, clearing his throat.

"Wow," he whispered, "I think I forgot my name there for a second," he said before closing the distance between them once more for a series of short peck-like kisses. Every time he pulled-away he would close-in again a few seconds later as if he just couldn't bear to break contact. When he finally did, at least ten minutes had gone by. "What were we doing before this again?" he asked. His eyes were closed and his forehead was once again pressed against Hermione's. She was as lost as he was, and she struggled to come-up with the events preceding the kiss. Only because her brain was accustomed to recalling difficult information was she able to remember.

"Christmas present," Hermione whispered reluctantly knowing that Ron would have to let her go eventually.

"Oh, right," he said, but made no move to let her go. "Well, I suppose we should get on with it," he muttered after a minute, reluctantly unwrapping his arms from Hermione's slender frame. She let go of her grip also, and went to sit on the sofa as he walked back to where his bag was and once again began rummaging through it. Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, trying to absorb everything that had happened to her recently. When she opened her eyes again, Ron was sitting next to her, holding a rectangular package in his hands.

"I thought you'd fallen asleep for a second," he told her.

"No, I was just, _thinking_—you know?" she responded—and asked at once. Ron nodded, and took one of her hands in his. He placed the package in her palm, and wrapped her fingers around it, but kept her hand in his.

"Before you open this, I just wanted to say, that is I—" he seemed to be searching for words to convey his feelings properly, and after a minute he took a deep breath. "The thing, Hermione, is that you're my best friend, only you're _not_ too. Does that make sense? In every way you're my best friend: you're the one I turn to when I need help, you give me advice when I need it—and sometimes when I don't—you worry about me when I'm in trouble and you're not afraid to let me know when I'm being a ruddy twit, and I'm not afraid of telling you when you're nosing-in or being a know-it-all. In that respect, Harry's my best friend too—you both are, but my friendship with Harry is different than what you and I have because it kind of ends there. I'm not saying that Harry's less of a friend than you are, because he's like a brother to me—and if he and Ginny really _are_ as close as you alluded then he's _more_ of a brother than I thought—I'd give my life for him, you now I would, but at the same time I care for him differently than the way I realized—three years ago—that I care for you.

"That's what I meant when I said that you were my best friend, and that at the same time you're not. You're so much _more _than my best friend, Hermione. I—I can't really say everything that I want to say. I'm still afraid of a lot of things, and someday I'll be able to tell you everything, and I promise I'll write the speech ahead of time so I don't sound like a blubbering idiot, but the gist of it, Hermione, is that as good of a friend as you are, I care about you as more than just one. Seeing you with Viktor Krum was my first clue to that. Remember that night in the common room when I kind of just lost it and kissed you? It was then that I realized everything, but I was too scared and too confused to do anything after that. I wasn't ready then to face up to all my feelings, and I'm still not completely ready now, but at least I know what I want out of my life, and I know that whatever happens I want you to be there with me.

"I wanted to tell you this on the train, but I backed-out at the last minute. It's funny how in the face of certain death one can be so composed but when it comes to telling someone you care about them you almost wish as if you were battling giant spiders…and we both know how much I love spiders. Anyway, I just wanted to say that you will always be my best-friend no matter what happens, but that I'm also ready to face-up to that next step, and that if you'll have me, I'd like to have a go at a less 'platonic' relationship." Hermione took a deep breath. She wasn't sure she would be able to speak even if she wanted to. Her throat had completely tightened up on her, and her eyes were quickly filling with tears. Ron seemed to understand what she was undergoing, and instead of waiting for a response from her, he squeezed her hand and let it go, leaving her holding the present. "Open it," he urged, and with trembling hands she pulled back the ribbon and unwrapped the paper.

It was a gold chain bracelet to which were attached several small charms, each no bigger than a dime. One was a small, red ruby in the shape of the Philosopher's Stone (A/N if you're American, you know it as the Sorcerer's Stone), another charm was in the shape of an hourglass with delicate grains of opaline sand inside. There were charms representing every milestone in Hermione's life at Hogwarts, and its sheer beauty amazed her. One charm caught her attention and Hermione chuckled—it was a miniature copy of _Hogwarts: A History_, but what caught her interest was the miniscule set of hinges on the charm's binding. She looked at Ron questioningly and he smiled at her, a silent urge for her to open it, which she did. Her breath caught in her throat as the inside of the miniature locket revealed two photographs: one was of her at the Yule Ball—her face glowed, and she was looking in the distance, smiling radiantly; she looked happy, this must have been before her fight with Ron—Hermione hadn't even realized at the time that she was being photographed.

"I've had that since fourth year. Colin Creevey took it out in the Entrance Hall before everyone went into the Great Hall. I never told you, but that night I thought you looked amazing; it was the first time that I realized how beautiful you were…how beautiful you are. You don't have to be all done up for me to think that you're the loveliest thing I've ever laid eyes on, but being a male means I'm a little slow when it comes to understanding the female species."

"Thanks," Hermione smiled, "I think," she added, winking at him and blushing a little. She turned back to the charm and looked at the other picture. It was of Ron, of course, and it looked as if it had been taken recently. Hermione couldn't help but notice how handsome he looked. Then, looking more closely, she realized that a date was engraved underneath the two pictures. "That's today's date," Hermione remarked, taken aback slightly. Ron looked sheepish.

"It is—it's the date I finally sucked it up and told you how I really felt," he said. "I thought I'd make a little history of our own," he told her, referring obviously to book that the charm replicated. Hermione smiled, and tears of happiness spilled over her cheeks. She threw her arms around Ron and hugged him tightly.

"Thank you, Ron; thank you. This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me," she told him, holding him tightly.

"You're welcome, Hermione. I'm just happy you didn't laugh in my face," he told her, lightening the mood, some. Hermione giggled.

"Well, I was tempted to for just a second, but then I thought better of it," she jested. "Will you help me put this on?" she asked him, pulling away so would be able to clasp the delicate bracelet on her wrist; it was truly beautiful.

"Hmm, if I'd known I'd get this much of a reaction, I would have worked up the nerve to tell you all this a long time ago," Ron joked in return. Hermione hit him playfully and Ron easily caught her hands.

"You should get some rest," he told her seriously. They'd been stranded for almost eight hours; it was probably close to 2 am.

"I thought you said I shouldn't sleep, earlier," Hermione asked, confused.

"I did, but it's been at least eight hours. It should be okay to sleep for a few hours at least. I'll wake you up every now and then just to make sure you're okay." Hermione wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea of being woken-up every hour, but she had to admit she needed the rest.

"What about you?" Hermione asked Ron.

"I'll be okay, I caught up with that nap I took on the train," he told her, smiling slightly.

"Well, I suppose I could do with some rest," Hermione yawned, "but if you get tired, promise me you'll get some sleep. Don't worry about me, I feel better," she told him half-heartedly as she closed her eyes and snuggled close to Ron, letting his body heat envelop her like a blanket.

"I promise nothing," Ron whispered in her ear, but Hermione barely heard him.

"Good," she muttered, yawning again before falling asleep.

She was awoken what seemed like seconds later, but was in fact an hour.

"Hermione?" she heard Ron ask.

"I'm fine, Ron," she muttered before going back to sleep. Another second/hour passed and she was jarred awake once more. "I'm alive," she muttered this time, not waiting for Ron to respond before she fell asleep again. The pattern repeated itself twice more before Hermione intervened, threatening Ron with bodily harm if he woke her up once more and didn't get some sleep himself. Of course, she did all of this with her eyes closed and her face muffled against Ron's chest so she wasn't sure how much he'd understood, but he'd certainly seemed to get the gist of it, because when she went to sleep again, Ron did not wake her up. The next time she opened her eyes, it was to light streaming in through the window.

Hermione shut her eyes to the faint sunlight beaming in. She didn't know where she was and she couldn't understand why her head felt as if it had been cracked open with a hammer. Lastly, she couldn't understand why her bed was so oddly comfortable all of a sudden—she had always found her Hogwarts bunk rather lumpy and in comparison, her bed at home was much too soft. Hermione inhaled deeply and her olfactory center was immediately graced with the scent she could associate to no one else but—"Ron?" she muttered, opening her eyes a little wider this time as the events of last night came rushing back to her.

Hermione tried moving but felt a pair of arms tighten around her. Their position from the night before—Ron sitting upright and Hermione cuddled next to him—had escalated to bot of them lying on the sofa…well at least to Ron's lying on the sofa, on his back. Hermione was sprawled on top of Ron, on her stomach. Her head was in the crook of Ron's neck with her ear pressed against his chest. The fire in the chimney had been reduced to embers and Hermione could see her breath in front of her face, but she was surprised at how warm and comfortable she was. Ron's arms were around her, holding onto her protectively. The rhythmic rise of his chest and the sound of his soft snoring indicated that he was still sleeping. Hermione smiled before trying to extricate herself from Ron's grip…she had been doing that a lot, recently, _smiling_. It was not that she _wanted_ to leave, but she had a terrible need to use the facilities, and she wanted to put more wood on the fire before the embers died down and Ron was forced to rip even _more_ pages out of her beloved textbook. She wriggled a bit and found that if she slid her entire body downwards, towards Ron's feet, she should be able to free herself relatively easily. A few minutes and much maneuvering later, she had managed to slide down exactly two inches, at which point she began blushing furiously.

It is common knowledge that men can get—excited—while they sleep, but Hermione had never stopped to think about it much, that is until she felt an unmistakable mass pressing into her upper thigh. Her first instinct was to bolt up suddenly, but she refrained herself from doing so as it would merely wake Ron up and embarrass them both. Though she was eighteen, Hermione was not exactly experienced in such matters. Aside from Viktor Krum and less than a handful of other boys, she had never officially 'dated', and the furthest she'd ever gone was kissing…and it wasn't as if any of those kisses could even compare to her and Ron's. She didn't know Ron's history with girls. She knew he had dated a Ravenclaw in their fifth year, and a Hufflepuff for a few weeks after that, but she had never gone into detail with him—boys weren't like that. You couldn't discuss these types of things with your best friends when they were male. Perhaps that was why she and Ginny had become closer and closer over the years.

Hermione took a deep breath and focused her mind on neutral things like books and schoolwork as she slid down the rest of Ron's body as gently as she could. She squeezed her eyes shut when she reached the point where her face was just inches from the waistband of Ron's jeans—his shirt had ridden up during the course of the night, and that offensive trail of fine auburn hair was right in front of her face—Hermione couldn't see it, as she refused to look, but she could feel them against her cheek. She was holding her breath; finally, she was able to extricate herself completely and she lifted herself from Ron's body, standing next to the sofa to catch her breath. She straightened herself as best she could and risked a glance at Ron. She felt her cheeks warm as she scanned his frame. He had removed his shoes and his bare feet—along with a good portion of his calves—hung over the edge of the sofa. He had nice feet—which was a wonder that Hermione thought so, because, like many people, feet were her least favorite body part. His legs looked longer when he was lying down than they did when he was standing. Also, he had extended one arm over his head onto the couch's backrest. He looked almost like a small child when he was asleep. His hair was mussed and his cheeks were rosy—he looked innocent and handsome at once. Hermione's heart leaped in her chest and she forced herself to look away. No doubt she could stand there for hours just looking at him sleep but her bladder had different ideas. Knowing that there was no restroom in the cabin, Hermione quickly let herself out the door and trudged to the back of the cabin. It wasn't the most glamorous of arrangements by far, and this was one of the few times that she wished she might be male, but the cold quickly rid Hermione's mind of any doubts and hesitations and a minute later she was walking back into the cabin, shivering but significantly more comfortable. She proceeded to pile more wood onto the fire and watched as the embers slowly began to glow and the dry branches began to smoke and crackle as small flames began to feed on them. She raised herself from her spot, wiping her hands on the back of her slacks. She expected Ron to still be sleeping when she turned around but let-out a scream when she found him standing less than three feet behind her. She clutched her hands to her chest lest her frantically beating heart jump out of it.

"Good morning to you too," Ron said groggily, scratching his head. His voice was thick with sleep and his eyes were barely opened. He took a step towards Hermione and bent down as if to kiss her good morning but Hermione immediately ducked out of his reach with her hand over her mouth when she realized what he was about to do. She took refuge behind the sofa, using it as a barrier between the two of them. "I knew you'd think what happened last night was a mistake," Ron sighed, an unmistakable sadness in his voice, as he misinterpreted Hermione's hasty retreat.

"Mmph, hmph umph," came Hermione's reply from behind her hand.

"Why in the name of Zeus is your hand in front of your mouth? I can't hear a bloody thing you're saying," he told her in exasperation. Hermione removed her hand and took a step backwards.

"I said that last night was by _no_ means a mistake."

"Well what, then?" Ron asked, taking another step towards Hermione whose hand flew to her mouth again.

"Mmph, hmph," she said.

"What is it??" Ron asked getting impatient. Hermione lowered her hand just enough to be heard.

"I said that I haven't brushed my teeth yet," she whispered sheepishly. Her parents _were_ dentists, after all. There was no way she was going to let Ron near her without her having first brushed and rinsed thoroughly. Ron grinned widely, relieved that Hermione was only being vain about her oral hygiene.

"Is _that_ all? You had me worried there," Ron said, grinning even more broadly and taking a step towards her. Up went Hermione's hand again, and more mumbling from behind it. "For God's sake, Hermione, speak properly would you? I don't care about a little morning breath. I've been dying to kiss you good morning ever since I woke up," he told her. Hermione didn't seem to care about that, but one look at Ron's face told her it would be a lot less complicated if she just gave in.

"Just a short one, then, and I'm keeping my mouth closed," she told him. _Women!_ Ron thought, but he was going to take what he could get and gave her a long peck, keeping his mouth closed and simply pressing his lips against hers for a few minutes. The second he pulled back, Hermione's hand was back in the way. Ron rolled his eyes.

"I can see you're not going to back down on this," he said, and motioned to his bag. "I don't have a toothbrush, but I do have those tooth flossing mints," he told her. Hermione practically leapt on the knapsack and dug through it frantically, locating the mints amongst the panoply of other sweets. She put one in her mouth an immediately felt the relieving action of what seemed like a dozen miniscule toothbrushes cleaning between her teeth while the flavor of the mint freshened her breath. She handed one to Ron who took it and popped it in his mouth.

"Leave it to you to rely on sweets for dental hygiene," Hermione pointed out the irony. Ron shrugged.

"I suppose there's an upside to all this," Hermione pointed out.

"What's that?" Ron asked, though he was fairly certain of what was coming as he was smiling broadly.

"You can finally give me a proper good-morning kiss," she smiled slyly, taking a step and linking her arms around his neck.

"Now _there's_ an idea," Ron said with amazement as he lowered his lips to hers. Their lips connected, and their tongues intertwined—gently at first, but the kiss became progressively more passionate until they both broke apart breathless. "Amen to tooth flossing mints," Ron grinned against Hermione's mouth.

"I second that," Hermione smiled. They both pulled away from the embrace, each aware that as lovely as it was that they could finally be true to their feelings and that their time together for the past day as they'd been stranded together encompassed probably some of their best moments, if they were to get back to Hogwarts, they would have to rely largely on themselves.

"It stopped snowing," Hermione told Ron in a sad, but determined voice. "It's still deathly cold, but we have several hours of daylight in front of us; we should make the best of them," she told him, and Ron agreed.

"The tracks we made last night are going to be covered-up. Even if someone finds the train wreck, they might not have a clue where we are."

"What do you propose we do?" Hermione asked.

"I'm going to walk back down to the train wreck, see if I can find our wands or anything that can help us. You need warmer clothes, and we can't live on sweets and butterbeer for long. If no one's come by tomorrow morning, we're going to have to hike up the mountainside. If we follow the train tracks, we'll get to Hogsmeade eventually. If we leave at daybreak we should be there by nightfall. We were only a few hours from Hogwarts when the car derailed."

"You can't be serious."

"That's all we can do. We can sit here and wait for a decade if we want to, but there's no guarantee anyone's going to look for us. They only began missing us a few hours ago, and they had to wait for the storm to die down before they could get a search party out. If I can find our wands then at least we can transfigure some food and clothe4s and try to send out a message, but if not we'll have no choice."

"What do you mean if _you_ can find our wands? Ron Weasley, I'm coming with you."

"No you're not."

"Ex_cuse_ me? Do _not_ presume to tell me what I can and cannot do, Ron. Just because I admitted to having feelings for you, it doesn't mean that you have a right to order me around, you know."

"One, I have feelings for you too, and I'm not _ordering_ anybody. Two, as much as I'd like to have you with me, I can make the trip faster by myself, and you still have a concussion. Finally, someone needs to stay here in case by some miracle someone _does_ find us here. So _please_, Hermione. Just this once will you listen to reason even if it's not from a book?" Ron pleased. Hermione humphed and crossed her arms over her chest.

"_Fine_," she said, although she was less than happy about it. "But I'm warning you, Ron Weasley. If you're not back here in one piece I'm going to find you and strangle you myself." Her tone was serious, but she was more frightened for his safety than anything else. Ron put on his shoes and gathered his things, putting on several undershirts in layers under his cloak. Hermione wanted him to wear his jumper as well but he insisted she keep it. Finally when it was time for him to leave, Hermione threw herself into his arms and hugged him.

"I'll be okay," he whispered into her hair, kissing her temple.

"Please be careful," Hermione told him. He nodded and placed a light kiss on her lips.

"I will be," he told her, and Hermione unwrapped her arms from around his neck, putting on a brave face as he turned and exited through the front door.

~*~

It was almost dusk and Ron had been gone close to six hours. Hermione was starting to worry. She had kept herself occupied all day by keeping the fire in the chimney lit and by cleaning the cabin by dusting and sweeping the floors as best she could by using a pine branch she had found outside. Of course, she had succeeded in spreading pine needles all over the floor more than she had in cleaning anything, but at least it had given her something to do—now all she could do was pace back and forth along the length of the small cabin, hoping against hope that Ron was okay. She swore up and down that if he didn't show his face soon, she would go out there and try to find him, herself. She knew that wasn't by any means the wisest thing to do, but at the moment she felt so _helpless_, and it was the worst feeling in the world. She looked out the window for what had to be the hundredth time that day, but all she could see was her own reflection in the pane. It was now fully dark outside, and Ron would have a heck of a time finding his way back. Hermione had made her mind up to go looking for him, and was pulling his maroon sweater over her head when the door open and Ron came waltzing in.

"Where have you been?" Hermione exclaimed, running up to him. His face was red from the cold, and he was breathing heavily from his trek. He went to the sofa and sat down, and Hermione sat next to him. "You're freezing," she remarked, and took his hands in hers in a vain attempt to warm them up.

"It's bloody cold out there," Ron told her, speaking for the first time. 

"What took you so long?" Hermione asked him, happy that he was okay.

"There's a lot more snow on the ground than there was last night. It goes up to my knees, practically. It took longer to hike than I thought, and I spent some time at the wreck. There's almost nothing left. I was able to dig up some of your clothes, and some knickknacks, but all I found of our wands were splinters. I took a bit more time than I would have liked to look at the wrecked car—we were magicked loose, Hermione; it wasn't an accident." Hermione gasped, and stared at Ron disbelieving.

"Are you sure?" she asked, too horrified to believe that something like that could be true.

"I am; the portion of the car that connects us to the rest of the train was completely melted—nothing could do that naturally. It was sabotage. Someone must have known we were in the car and wanted to get rid of us."

"But who?" Hermione asked, still in shock.

"Who's the one person that hates us above anyone else? Who's the bloody git who's been tormenting you ever since he found out you were Muggle born?"

"Malfoy," Hermione said grimly.

"Malfoy," Ron replied in the same tone. "I bet he thinks we died in the crash or else froze out there last night, which we definitely would have done if we hadn't found this place. When I see that twit, I'm going to let him have it once and for all." Hermione put a pacifying hand on his arm, and Ron placed his own on top of it, squeezing lightly.

"Malfoy will get his come-uppance, Ron. Right now, we have to concentrate on getting out here alive."

"We'll have to leave in the morning. There's no sense staying here. If Malfoy decides to check to see if his handiwork paid off, we'll be sitting ducks. Our best chance is to hike up to Hogsmeade and contact Dumbledore from there." Hermione said nothing, but she knew Ron was right. She couldn't say that she was too surprised at the turn of events…they were always getting into some kind of trouble, it seemed. This time, though, she would personally see that Malfoy got what was coming to him. She didn't want Ron to guess how much she despised Malfoy because she knew it would only fuel his determination to get even with him. Ron had gotten into too much trouble over the years because of that idiot. This time Hermione would deal with him herself as she had with Rita Skeeter. She would personally see to it that Draco Malfoy got expelled at the very least. The sound of Ron's grumbling stomach broke through her thoughts, and she forgot about Malfoy temporarily.

She was starving. Ron had left a few sweets with her, but she had been too preoccupied all day to eat any. She tried not to think of the feast the Hogwarts students were probably having right then. Her own stomach grumbled, and Ron and she burst out laughing at the same time. She reached for the bag of sweets, and, although they weren't the most satisfying of meals, Ron and she ate them contentedly after which they each downed a bottle of butterbeer.

"We should get some sleep," Ron announced after they had eaten. "We have a long way to go tomorrow; we need to be well rested." Hermione nodded, although she was far from tired. She watched Ron as he bent down to remove his shoes, and blushed as she remembered her predicament that morning. Ron saw the pink tinge spread through her cheeks. "What are you thinking of?" he asked, but she shook her head.

"Nothing important," she whispered, turning redder. Ron was now removing his cloak and the extra layers he had donned earlier. Every time he lifted his arms, his navel and that little trail were exposed, and every time that happened, Hermione's eyes glazed over slightly as she tried not to stare at it. She really _was_ hopeless; there was no denying it now.

"I see," Ron told her, now fully divested of the extra clothing. The shirt he wore now was not the same as the one he'd worn last night. It was older, and slightly worn through so that Hermione could see through it. The outline of Ron's shoulders, and chest and stomach were painfully obvious. Hermione swallowed hard. She was startled out of her thoughts when Ron spoke to her again. "I got some of your clothes out of the snow. Most of them were in the snow so they're wet, but I'm sure a few of them are dry enough for you to be able to change. If you're so paranoid about your teeth, there's no telling how bad you are about—everything else," he said, his eyes scanning over her body. Hermione felt her cheeks warm once more. She wondered if she had the same effect on Ron as he had on her, but decided not to think about it too much lest she be tempted to do something that could prove very unwise given their present situation.

"Thanks; I could benefit from a change of clothes; these are all dusty, and this shirt's got more blood on it than I thought I had in me." Hermione tugged at the shirt she was wearing. The fabric was a rusty brown color where the blood had soaked through and dried, and in those places the fabric was stiff. Ron stared at the shirt and nodded towards the floor where his bag lay significantly fuller than when he'd left. She picked it up and emptied the top contents onto the sofa. Ron had found some of her shirts, but no pants at all and the ones she wore were still damp from her trek in the snow from the night before, and the few times she'd gone outside to use the (lack of) facilities. She turned to Ron to ask him if she could borrow one of his shirts to sleep in as it would be long enough to cover her while she put her pants to dry, but her breath caught in her throat when she saw that he was unbuttoning his pants. She couldn't even ask him what he was doing for her voice had completely left her. He was turned at an angle so that she was facing his right side, and he was facing a little bit away from her. All Hermione could do was stare, wide-eyed, as he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans and pulled them down around his ankle, stepping out of them. Hermione's tongue practically fell out of her mouth and onto the floor, as she stared at his boxer-brief clad behind. She couldn't stop herself from grinning like an idiot. Luckily, Ron's face was turned away and he couldn't see her. She turned away just as he turned towards her and reached into the bag to pull out a pair of maroon pajama bottoms. Hermione pretended nothing was out of the ordinary as he pulled the bottoms on, and set his pants by the fire to dry.

"Listen, Ron; could I borrow a shirt from you?" Hermione asked him, trying to stop her voice from cracking. Luckily, her nervousness wasn't noticeable. Ron raised his eyebrow as if silently asking himself why it was that she was asking him for one of his shirts when he had brought her several of her own.

"Sure, help yourself," he said instead, opting to humour her. Actually, he had always imagined what Hermione would look like in his clothes. Hermione opted for one of Ron's school shirts—a white button down that would go down to mid thigh.

"Thanks," she said, and she turned away from Ron as he had from her so that she could change. Ron had bent down and had begun prodding the fire with a stick so that the ashes from the wood would fall to the bottom and not obstruct the fire from burning, so Hermione was relatively content that he wasn't watching. She removed her bloodstained shirt slowly, making sure not to disturb the bandage on her head. Even though the shirt was fit for the garbage, she folded it and placed it neatly on the floor next to the sofa as was her habit with her clothes. Had she turned around she would have noticed that Ron was no longer poking the fire, but rather staring at the recesses of her back and shoulder which were obstructed only by a thin band of white lace which was her brassiere. His eyes were glazed and his mouth open much as Hermione's had been minutes before. Hermione slipped his shirt over her shoulders, and unbuttoned her pants, pulling them down over her hips and kicking them away before buttoning Ron's shirt. Indeed, it reached her mid thigh in the front and back, but the sides scooped up some to reveal ample leg. Just as Hermione had turned back abruptly, she saw Ron's head turn to the side a millisecond after she'd turned towards him…had _she_ been that obvious? Probably, she decided, but this was not the time to lecture Ron about gentlemanly courtesy. It was best that they ignore this sexual attraction, especially when giving in to it at this point in time would be very unwise indeed. Hermione picked up her jeans and lay them next to Ron's in front of the fire. By the morning they would be dry…only to become wet again when they ventured up the mountainside.

"We should get some sleep," Ron told her, taking his cloak from where he'd lain it, and motioning Hermione to the sofa. They resumed their positions from the night before: Ron sitting (albeit he allowed himself a little more sprawl room this time) and Hermione cuddled up to him with her head on his chest, and Ron's arms around her. Ron lay the cloak over them and kissed Hermione's forehead.

"Goodnight," he whispered. 

"Goodnight," Hermione answered, closing her eyes and falling asleep almost immediately.


	5. A Change of Plans

Disclaimer: Harry Potter etc. are the intellectual property of JKR; no infringement is intended.

****

Chapter 5: A Slight Change of Plans

Hermione was happy. She was smiling when she awoke, content to be in Ron's arms. Unlike the morning before she knew exactly where she was and that she never wanted to leave. It was still dark out, and Hermione sighed contentedly as she could stay here for a few more hours. Her head was rising up and down as Ron breathed, and they were in almost the same position as they'd been yesterday—almost because although they were now lying down. Hermione was on her side, squeezed in the space between Ron's body and the back of the sofa. Her left leg was spread over Ron's and her left arm around his chest. Her right arm was between their bodies and she realized that the fingers of that had were intertwined with Ron's whose left arm was around her shoulders. She listened for the soft sound of Ron's snoring but didn't hear it. She ventured a peek at his face and found his blue eyes looking down at her.

"Hi," she whispered, her left hand moving up to caress his jaw where the red stubble of a few days before was becoming more noticeable.

"Hi," Ron whispered back, taking her hand in his right and kissing the palm and the tip of each finger.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" Hermione asked him, although she was happy that she could spend a little more time with him.

"I was too busy noticing how beautiful you look when you're sleeping," he told her. Hermione couldn't help but sigh, and placed a soft kiss on Ron's jaw—the only place she could reach from her position. "Don't be so quick to see the romantic in me," Ron grinned mischievously, "it was the only thing I could do not to wake you up and ravage you," he revealed. Hermione giggled softly, tempted to utter the words 'I'm awake now.' They were on the tip of her tongue, but Ron placed a finger on her lip before she could say them. "Don't say it," he whispered, reading her mind.

"But I—" but Ron cut her off again.

"Me too, Hermione," he told her, "there's nothing I would love more than to make love to you. It's what my body has wanted for as long as I can remember. I've been fantasizing about a situation like this ever since I realized you were a girl, and even more so since you became a woman—the beautiful woman you are now. But right now, no matter what my body wants, I know I have to follow my heart, and my heart tells me that you deserve better than this. I don't want to do anything that might compromise you, and you _know_ how easily we Weasleys procreate. You don't know how much I want you, Hermione; you're everything I've wanted and wished for three years, I—" but it was Hermione's turn to cut him off.

"Ssh," she whispered, placing her fingers over his lips. "Thank you," she told him, placing another kiss on his jaw line. "Thank you for caring about me the way you do. You mean so much to me, Ron."

"You mean everything to me," he whispered, placing a kiss in her hair. Hermione snuggled closer, and Ron tightened his grip on her.

"How did I ever get so lucky?" Hermione asked.

"Temporary moment of insanity on my part?" he joked, and Hermione playfully slugged him. "There you go beating me again. Wait until I tell Harry; you're in _big_ trouble, you know."

"I think Harry has more important things to deal with—like how to sneak around with your little sister so you won't notice," she told him wickedly. Ron cringed.

"You _had _to rub it in, didn't you? Since when do you play so dirty?"

"Since I realized that if I was ever going to beat you at chess. I had to be ruthless. It worked, didn't it?" she nudged him playfully. Ron scoffed.

"Only because I was so sick I fell asleep three times during the game, and you've refused to play me since."

"I quit while I was ahead," she told him smiling.

"Of course you did; you realized that I am _clearly_ the better chess player," he said and poked her lightly in the side. Hermione jumped five feet in the air and squirmed. "You're ticklish!" Ron realized, and tried to poke her again, but Hermione was too quick for him, and grabbed his hand.

"I am not," she denied as Ron broke free and tickled her again. They wrestled around a bit, and it was wonder they didn't roll off onto the floor. The wrestling match abruptly ended when Hermione found herself pinned down with Ron on top of her. The shirt she wore was starting to ride dangerously high, and Hermione's long legs were completely exposed. They were in a very intimate position and Hermione heard Ron swallow hard before bringing his head down to kiss her. It was by far the most passionate kiss they'd shared to date. It was hungry and needy at once, and when Ron probed her lips with his tongue, begging for entry, Hermione did not hesitate before granting him entrance. His hand had moved down to roam the length of her leg and his other was caressing her cheek and then entangled in her hair. Hermione's hands roamed Ron's muscular shoulders and back and she slipped them under the edge of his shirt to caress the creamy soft skin underneath. Hermione involuntarily arched her back as Ron's mouth left hers to kiss along the length of her clavicle and into the hollow of her of her throat. Hermione wished nothing more than to be caught in this moment forever. The mere touch of Ron's hand on the back of her knee was doing things to her she had never experienced before. No matter how close Ron was to her, he was not close enough. Hermione had always believed that women who gave into the moment without thought to the consequences were twits, but now she realized how easy it would be to throw consequence to the wind. She didn't know if she would have the strength to stop this, didn't know if she even wanted to luckily Ron made that decision for her when he pulled himself off from on top of her and stood by the sofa, repeating a mantra that Hermione couldn't quite hear but that sounded remarkably like "Grandmum playing Quidditch, Grandmum playing Quidditch," over and over again. Hermione smiled and stifled a giggle. She straightened herself up as best she could as she tried to rid her mind of all the sensations she had been feeling. She knew it was for the best, but she couldn't help but feel a little sad that her time together with Ron was quickly coming to an end. Once they were back at Hogwarts, she would have to share him with Harry and Ginny, and they might not have any more moments like these. She knew she was being selfish but she couldn't help it. Ron meant so much to her, she didn't know how she would be able to spend any time away from him when they had just finally admitted their mutual feelings. 

Ron had finally gotten hold of himself and turned back to her, looking sheepish. "Sorry," he said, looking at his feet.

"Don't be," Hermione told him, getting up on her tiptoes to lightly kiss him on the lips. "We'll make up for it when it's right," she told him, and looked outside. The sun was quickly coming up higher. "I wish we could somehow stay here forever," she whispered against his chest.

"So do I," Ron revealed quietly, holding her close, "so do I," he said again, giving her one last squeeze before letting her go. Hermione went to the hearth where she retrieved both pairs of their jeans and handed Ron his own. They got dressed quietly their backs to each other which was very fortunate for the mere rustle of Ron undressing and dressing again was doing wonders to her sanity. Hermione wore several of the sweaters Ron had salvaged from the wreck, but she kept the shirt she'd worn last night underneath. The fact that she was wearing a piece of Ron's clothing comforted her, somehow. It made her feel close to him even though they would have to remain at a distance from each other for the next few hours at the very least. Hermione was _not_ looking forward to the trek that lay ahead of her. Her head was better than when she had first been knocked-out—was it almost _two_ days ago already? —and the dizziness and sharp pain had faded to a dull, but bearable, ache. She piled-on three pairs of socks, borrowing a few pairs from Ron…they were so big on her that she was able to fold them back on themselves to double the thickness. When she turned, Ron looked much like she did. He had only his one jumper but he had piled several undershirts underneath it. What with his cloak he would be relatively comfortable.

"Are you almost ready to go?" he asked her, smiling slightly. What with all the sweaters she was wearing, Hermione imagined she looked a bit like an over-dressed snow woman.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she announced, looking around to see if she'd forgotten anything. Her destroyed copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ lay where Ron had left it two nights ago. She bent and picked it up, then turned back to Ron who frowned at her.

"You're not thinking of doing any '_light _reading', are you?" he asked, using the words she used to describe anything under 3,000 pages.

"Actually, I was thinking that it would come in useful if we have to stop for the night and start another fire," she told him truthfully. Ron raised his eyebrows, amazed.

"There's hope for you yet," he said, elated, as he took her face in his hands and kissed her soundly. Hermione smiled, surprised at the sudden gesture, but she quickly realized that the best kind of kisses were the ones she didn't expect.

"I'll take that as a compliment," she laughed, her cinnamon eyes twinkling. She glanced again out the window, the sun was steadily making its way up the horizon and there was a kind of whitish-yellow glow over everything. The snow on the ground was already looking brighter than everything else, and by the time afternoon rolled around it would be terribly difficult to see through the glare. She looked-up when she felt Ron's hand on her shoulder.

"We'll be okay," he told her reassuringly. Hermione nodded but didn't say anything, hoping that Ron spoke the truth. A minute later they stood at the door, Ron holding it open for her as Hermione took one last look at the small room where she had spent some of the best times of her life, no matter how short they had been. She felt a kind of inexplicable sadness, looking back at the empty room with its dying fire. She would miss this place. Hermione took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Ron held the door open wider for her and she stepped through it…out of the confines of the cabin and into the frigid cold of winter she went. There was, thankfully, no wind, but the cold was a dry one; it made her skin tingle and burn at once. Hermione was glad for the bandage still wrapped around her head, for it would preserve what little heat she would have left in here by the end of the journey.

"Bloody hell, it's cold," Ron exclaimed as they took their first steps towards the direction of Hogwarts. His legs sunk to mid-calf every time he took a step. Though Hermione's sunk quite a bit too, she was lighter and the walk was slightly easier for her…which was not saying much considering she had a concussion. Also, because Ron's legs were much longer than hrs, for every step he took she had to take two, and Hermione was forced, on more than one occasion, to ask Ron to slow down a bit so she wouldn't have to run to keep up.

Most of the rough terrain that had been present two nights before was not covered with an even blanket of snow making it, in that context, a slightly easier walk than before, but the amount of energy that it took Hermione to trek up the mountainside soon had her breathing hard. The cold was no longer numbing, and Hermione was actually grateful for it for she was actually feeling rather warm. She looked up at Ron and saw that he seemed to be exerting as much energy as she was, but he, on the contrary, looked positively scrumptious doing it. He looked like he did when he was playing chess—there was a look of utmost concentration on his face. Hermione wondered what he was thinking but didn't dare ask for they had fallen in an eerie silence they'd left the cabin, and she didn't want to be the first to b4reak it. Instead she focused on the way Ron looked, the way he moved. He was hunched forward slightly, his bag on his shoulders as he walked, calculating each step before he took it. His profile was striking, powerful, athletic. Hermione could scarcely believe she was looking at the same man whom she had first met as an eleven-year-old boy who had, at the time, been so uncertain of himself. Ron had grown to be much like his brother Bill, right down to the hair that was just short enough to look groomed, but long enough to hang just past the edge of his collar. He was self-assured, now, popular to all those around him. He was Ron Weasley—he was her best friend; he was so much more. Hermione took another look at his hair; it resembled fire in this land of ice. It contrasted strongly with everything surrounding them just as Ron himself had stood out from every man she had ever known.

Hermione tore her gaze from Ron's profile and focused on the task at hand. They had been walking for no more than two hours but to Hermione it felt like a lifetime. She was already exhausted but determined to hold her own. Once they reached the train tracks it would only be a matter of following them back to Hogsmeade The would probably stop for a few minutes to catch their breath and replenish their energy some. Hermione was looking infinitely forward for a little rest.

~*~

They spotted the camp before they did the railway tracks. Hermione's first instinct was to yell for help, to run-up to the tents spread in the distance, but it was lucky she didn't. Ron had grabbed the arm of her sweater and dragged her down in the snow beside him, his finger to his lips in an order to keep silent. They were still a kilometer or so away from the campsite but Hermione still kept her voice down when she spoke to Ron.

"Who do you think it is?" she asked him, and Ron shook his head.

"It could just be hunters," he said although Hermione could tell he didn't really believe it. They were still on the ground when they saw a darkly dressed figure emerge from one of the tents. They were far away, and couldn't see the figure clearly but Hermione still tried to make out the face. All she could tell from her standpoint, however, was that the person in question had silvery-blonde hair.

"Malfoy," Ron gritted his teeth, beating Hermione to it. The figure, however, looked taller, bulkier than Draco Malfoy.

"Lucius Malfoy," Hermione clarified, realizing that they were in fact looking at Draco's father.

"Who's that with him?" Ron asked as another man emerged from the tent. This one had jet-black hair, which looked greasy even from a kilometer away.

"Snape," Ron and she whispered at the same time.

"But I don't understand," Hermione frowned, "I thought Snape was on our side." She knew that Professor Snape had once been a Death Eater but she was positive he had reformed himself; his position in the presence of a Death Eater as notorious as Lucius Malfoy just did not make sense.

"I know what you're thinking, Hermione, but I don't want to stick around to find out. Where there's a Death Eater, there's trouble and don't forget the fact that that train crash was _not_ an accident. Ten Galleons that Lucius Malfoy and his gang had something to do with it."

"What do we do now, then?" Hermione asked, a slight tremor in her voice. She had been in the face of danger on more than once occasion but that did not mean she liked it.

"We have to go around them," Ron said, surveying the landscape for anything that would protect them from view. The Death Eaters were directly blo9cking their way. To go around them meant that they would elongate their trip by as much as days. The ground they were on now was uneven but relatively flat. Hermione knew there was only one other alternative and she shuddered to think of it. Her heart sank when she heard Ron say the words she hadn't wanted to hear: "We'll have to go up the mountain," Ron told her.

"Ron, are you crazy? We can't go up there, it's practically a vertical trek all the way, and there's no set path," she argued although she knew it was the only chance they had to survive even though they were likely to die long before they reached safety. Still, Hermione had rather die at the hands of the mountain than she did at the hands of Lucius Malfoy any day.

"Hermione, you know we don't have any other choice," Ron told her, speaking gently.

"I know," she relented, her voice barely audible. She looked up at Ron's face, her eyes brimming with tears but she blinked them away. This was the time to be strong. She wanted to see Harry and Ginny again, to see the faces of her fellow Gryffindors when she and Ron marched through the castle. She had made it this far, had she not? She and Ron had already beaten the odds by surviving the initial crash, and then when they should have frozen to death that first night they had found shelter. They had made it; most importantly, though, was the fact that after all these years, she had finally made her feelings known to Ron, and she now knew that he felt the same way. Fate couldn't be that cruel, could it? She was not about to die, to lose Ron just as she had finally found him, finally found the comfort of being held in his arms or of sleeping next to him. She refused to five up; she was not going to cry because she was tired of being a slave to her emotions. She was going to make it up that mountain, and when she came fact to face with Lucius Malfoy, she would make it her duty to make him pay for the troubles he had caused, and for the lives he had ruined. Hermione set her chin, and stood-up to a crouch as the figures of Snape and Lucius Malfoy retreated back into the tent.

"Let's go," she said with new determination," we'll show those Death Eaters that they can't get rid of us that easily," and with that she started towards the mountain, Ron following her with a look of awe and admiration on his face.


	6. Survival of the Fittest

A/N: This is the censored version of Chapter 6; there is an uncensored version that has been posted separately under an NC17 rating.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter etc. are the intellectual property of JKR; no infringement is intended.

****

Chapter 6: Survival of the Fittest

Unlike the ground they had practically hopped through, earlier, the mountains were completely rock and such that within an hour, Ron and Hermione had made very little leeway. The further up they climbed, the more they had to go around large rocks and the deeper the snow became. The silence that had overwrought the two, earlier, was back, but was not as permeating. Ron had tried earlier to lighten the mood by asking a series of silly, light-hearted questions as a distraction. Hermione had caught-on and had begun to do the same. It was not much, but it passed the time much more easily, and it distracted them both as they climbed.

"If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?" Ron asked her as they rounded a particularly large boulder.

"Leave it to you to talk about food," Hermione teased. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Answer the question, would you?" Hermione thought about it for a second.

"Bread," she answered. Ron gave her a queer look.

"_Bread_? You would eat _bread_?"

"What's wrong with bread? Besides, I wouldn't eat just any _kind_ of bread; I really like that French crusty bread I had when my parents took me to France."

"That French crusty bread," Ron enunciated, repeating Hermione's words. Hermione looked around with her hands on her hips, pretending to be confused.

"More of an echo than I would have figured at these altitudes," she said, frowning.

"Ha, ha," Ron commented from behind her. "I can't believe you would live on bread for the rest of your life, but that's alright…I won't say anything."

"Well what would _you_ live on, then? Please, do tell."

"Treacle Pudding," Ron told her as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes.

"Figures," she said.

"Now, now; you can't say anything Miss 'Bread'," he snickered and Hermione socked him lightly on the arm.

They hadn't said anything about Snape being with Mr. Malfoy down below but Hermione had been thinking about it quite a bit. She just couldn't believe that Snape would try to hurt them. She disliked him as much as Ron and Harry did but reason told her that if he was associating with Lucius Malfoy it was for a good reason. Ron looked at her again, frowning slightly. He was no doubt wondering what she was thinking.

"If you could changed anything about yourself, what would it be?" she asked Ron, trying to get her thoughts back on track.

"My hair," Ron said after a moment's thought. Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, which caused Ron to bump into her from behind. "Sorry," he muttered, and Hermione turned to look at him.

"Don't you _ever_ change your hair, Ron. I _love _your hair; I can't believe you would want to get rid of it."

"I don't want to get _rid_ of it. I doubt I would look as handsome as I do now if I were _bald_."

"And you're modest, too," Hermione rolled her eyes and replied with sarcasm.

"Of course; it's one of my _many_ qualities," Ron winked. "You really like my hair?"

"I _love_ your hair, Ron. I've only spent the last three years dreaming about that hair."

"You've been dreaming about my _hair_? Maybe you _have_ gone off your rocker after all," he teased.

"You _know_ what I mean," Hermione said, about to sock him again but she was abruptly interrupted when Ron kissed her…yep, these were definitely the best kind of kisses, Hermione thought as her arms linked around Ron's neck and she returned the kiss. They broke apart after a minute.

"I have been wanting to do that for _hours_," Ron revealed. Hermione broke into a wide smile. She couldn't fathom, now that they were open about their feelings, how they had ever managed for three years without doing anything.

"It _is_ quite refreshing to be able to kiss you whenever I want to and not worry about waking-up to find that everything's all a dream."

"Do you think we should tell people about us once we get back?" Though the conversation had been light until now, Ron spoke seriously. Hermione thought about the question for a few moments before replying.

"I think that Harry and Ginny deserve to know. Everyone else will clue-in eventually," she told him. Ron seemed to agree.

"I'll tell Harry, I suppose; this isn't they type of conversation I'm used to having with my sister, and it's really not as if she had the decency to tell me about her and Harry. Come to think of it, it might have been nice if Harry had bothered to let me know about his sneaking about with my _little sister_." Hermione rolled her eyes and resumed walking around boulders.

"Harry and Ginny haven't been 'sneaking around', Ron. Not any more than you and I did before this happened. They fancy each other, that much is clear, but they have yet to tell each other."

"May I remind you of that kiss in the common room? Our first kiss to be exact? I hadn't gotten around to telling you my feelings then but that didn't stop me from putting the moves on you, now did it?" he replied, following her up the steep incline and around yet another large boulder.

"No, I suppose it didn't, but I assure you that if Harry has 'put the moves,' as you so eloquently put it, on Ginny, then he's only done it recently because as of before Christmas vacation, nothing had happened."

"You're sure?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"I'm sure," Hermione reassured him. She rolled her eyes yet again, knowing that Ron couldn't see her. It was at times like these that she thanked her lucky stars she was an only child. Ginny was lucky to have brothers who cared enough about her well being to be so protective but she knew that if anyone were like that with her she was likely to go mad. Hermione frowned as she lifted herself a few feet to climb over a small ledge and round yet another rocky protuberance; it was completely impossible to distinguish one turn from the other. "Where are we _going_?" she asked with a tone that was more than just a little bit anxious. Ron looked at her and looked around.

"You mean you don't know?" he said in a teasing tone, but the look of worry she threw over her shoulder was enough to make him adopt a serious air again. "We're not lost, Hermione. I may not know _exactly_ where we are but the train tracks were headed due North into Scotland. As long as we use the sun as a reference point, we'll be fine. We keep it to our right during the mornings and to our left during the afternoons and once we get down the mountain we should be able to find the tracks again." Hermione looked at him skeptically.

" 'Should' being the operative word, here," she said.

"Look, it's not an exact science, I know, but it's all we can do. I don't know what Snape was doing back there, I really don't. You know I think he's a two-bit git and I don't like him any more than I have to. Still, I don't think Dumbledore would trust him after all that's happened since You-Know-Who came back if he were evil. If he were with Lucius Malfoy undercover, he wouldn't have been able to help us even if he had wanted to. We can't do anything about that now, anyway…not just the two of us, and definitely not without magic."

"So what do we do, then, Ron? Do we just freeze to death up in the mountains? Do we keep going until we, by some miracle, happen upon Hogsmeade? Even if we _do_ get home alive in a day or two and we tell someone what we saw, it might be too late. Malfoy may have already done what he has planned, and if Snape _is_ working for our side, he might be able to stop him by himself." Hermione took a deep breath, making up her mind. "Ron, we have to go back," she told him.

"Absolutely _not_," Ron said vehemently, shaking his head to reinforce his point.

"Ron, we _have_ to. We barely know where we're going; we're going to freeze to death tonight anyway. If we're going to die, we might as well do it saving the world," she joked, but Ron wasn't in a joking mood.

"That's no funny, Hermione. _No_; even if I were daft enough to go back there, I would never let you do the same."

"Ron, listen to yourself for two minutes. You know I'm right; I know you know it. Maybe under different circumstances…maybe if I hadn't hit my head or if it weren't so cold, then maybe then we could have made it off this mountain in time, but we can't, Ron; we just can't. We have to go back." Ron was shaking his head again. His eyes were glistening somewhat and when he tried to speak his voice cracked—it was then that Hermione realized that he was holding back tears.

"Hermione, I can't let you do this. Please don't make me do this," he pleaded and one tear slid down his cheek. Hermione had never ever seen him cry before; it was breaking her heart.

"I have to, Ron. If you don't want to come—" Ron cut her off.

"That's not it, and you know it. I'll do what I have to do. I'll take this to the end if I have to, but I'm not going to just stand here and let you sacrifice yourself…not when I've just found you. Hermione, I lo—" Hermione would not let him say the words. Large tears had welled in her eyes as well, but as much as she longed to hear the words that Ron had been about to utter, she didn't want them to be as goodbye.

"I know, Ron, but this is _not_ the end; not yet," she said before Ron pulled her into his arms. They stood there, holding each other for a good fifteen minutes, both lost in their own thoughts. When they broke apart, it was mutual. Neither said a word, just turned back the way they'd come from and made their way silently down the mountain.

~*~

When they reached the foot of the mountain, both Ron and Hermione were exhausted. Not only did the trek have them physically worn, but the possibility of never making it back to Hogwarts had them emotionally so as well.

"There are worst things than death itself," Hermione whispered to herself to give her an extra bout of courage.

"Name one," Ron asked, turning towards her. Hermione was surprised he'd heard her, owing to the fact that her voice had barely been above a whisper, but then she knew that at times in the past, she herself had been so attuned to Ron's emotions that she'd practically heard the thoughts running through his head just by looking at him.

"Living without honor, for one," Hermione said in an attempt to convince them both, "and dying without reason," she finished. Ron looked skeptical and Hermione couldn't blame him. Harry, when faced with mortal danger, at least had the comfort—as slight as it might have been—to know that what he did, it was his destiny…the reason he had been put on this earth. For Ron and Hermione, every time they were in danger it was because they were being pulled-in by Harry; it was their duty as his best friends to stand by him, but that also meant that they stood a large chance of dying, a chance they took willingly if it meant that Harry could make it through to fulfill what he was meant to do. This, though, was different because never before had it been only the two of them, intentionally walking into a situation that would undoubtedly be their last.

"Ron, you know what you were about to say up there—" she gestured vaguely to the mountain behind her, "—about…how you lo—how you feel? I—I can't say the words because that would mean that I was giving up and that I was telling you because I thought that we were about to die, but if anything did—well no, let's not go into that—just…Ron, don't ever doubt that I feel the same way." Hermione looked at her feet. Her heart felt as if it was about to burst. To be so close to being with someone and yet being so far from them at the same time—it was like feeling completely helpless; it was the worst feeling in the world.

Ron kissed Hermione on the temple, inhaling the scent of her hair through the thin covering of her bandage. He fingered it lightly, and whispered in her ear. "Madam Pomfrey will have a fit when she sees your head. We'll have to change your bandage for something other than an old tee shirt when we get back—and we _will_ get back. You're right, Hermione. There _are_ worst things than dying, and one of them is not being able to tell you in words how I feel about you. I thought I was scared before, that I wasn't ready for all this but the thought of not having a 'this' at all…that's worst than a thousand deaths," he kissed her temple once more before linking his fingers with hers. "Now come on before I change my mind," he said jokingly though presumably it was only to lighten the mood; neither of them was much up for jokes. "We've got to go save the world," he added before tugging lightly on her hand and continuing in the direction of the camp where they'd seen the Death Eaters. The sun was very low in the sky as they made their way. It soon receded to a faint orange glow on the horizon, leaving everything else draped in velvety darkness. Hermione found it odd that that orange glow didn't seem to be getting any smaller—in fact it was growing as they walked towards it. As they cleared the next small hill, she realized why. They had found the encampment, had stumbled onto it from a different side and as a result they were closer than they had been before. Thankfully, under the cover of darkness, Ron and Hermione would be able to observe the Death Eaters unspotted. The large bonfire—the source of the orange glow—in the middle of the camp provided ample lighting for them to see what was happening.

"Looks like a party," Ron whispered in her ear, and the feel of his breath on the small hairs of her neck was giving her the most delightful shivers—Hermione mentally had to shake herself to pay attention to what was happening Ron was right; there did indeed seem to have some sort of festivities in the works. From their vantagepoint, they could see Death Eaters laughing and drinking from large tankards. They were all wearing dark cloaks and had masks over their faces, which made it quite impossible to tell who was whom. However, a figure standing apart from the crowd, arms crossed over his chest and looking surly even with a mask covering his face caught Hermione's attention.

"Ten Galleons that's Snape," Ron whispered in her ear, and again Hermione had to shake herself.

"You don't have ten Galleons on you, Ron. How am I supposed to collect if you lose?" she nit-picked, deciding it was better than doing what it was she really wanted to do right then.

"I won't lose, it's that simple. But, if you're going to be so difficult about this, then fine. I'll wager ten kisses—nice long ones." Hermione visibly cringed and Ron took it personally. "Don't you want to kiss me?" he asked, hurt.

"It's that I want to kiss you too much, that's the problem. I've been trying to rid myself of these—thoughts—for the past hour. You just _had_ to go and mention kissing didn't you?" Ron wriggled his eyebrows and grinned that boyish grin of his that always set Hermione's heart thumping—this was no exception.

"Would you say that they were _impure_ thoughts?" Ron asked cheekily. Hermione socked him on the arm and was gratified by seeing Ron rub the spot gingerly. He looked as if he were about to say something—no doubt about reporting her abusive behavior to Harry later on—but was cut-off when one of the Death Eaters spoke.

"Brothers! The brethren have been once again called to order to serve our Lord's wishes. As you all know, tomorrow night we will launch an attack on the city of Hogsmeade where several students of Hogwarts will be outing. The time _will_ come when we can attack the school directly, even if we have among our numbers members who wish to keep the school intact," at this mention Hermione saw what she had assumed to be Prof. Snape go visibly stiff. The speaker could be no other than Lucius Malfoy, for although Hermione had only heard him speak on a few occasions, she could recognize that cold cruelty anywhere. "The member I am referring to in particular will remain nameless—for the time being. The attack, as I have said, will take place at sundown tomorrow. Preparations have been made and we will move out during late afternoon. There is to be no mercy—we will make an example out of Dumbledore and the rest of the Mudblood lovers. Your children have evidently all been warned to stay away from Hogsmeade…no harm will come to our kind. Until then, let us all raise our glasses: to the success of the Dark Lord," Malfoy hissed, and the Death Eaters raised their tankards.

"The Dark Lord," they shouted in unison as they cheered and continued with their celebrating. Hermione turned back to where Prof. Snape had been standing. She saw Lucius Malfoy walk up to him; they seemed to be having some sort of heated argument during which they both removed their hoods and stalked into one f the tents.

"We need to get out of here, find somewhere to set-up camp for the night," Ron said and Hermione nodded. The Death Eaters were to make their move tomorrow—that would be when Ron and she would try to stop them, though by what means she had no idea. She followed Ron who brought them behind a small cluster of boulders. The ground there was relatively flat and free of snow, as it had been blown around the rocks, and the boulders would offer them some protection from the wind. Also, any light from a fire they built would be camouflaged.

~*~

It took almost an hour for them to get a fire started. Wood was scarce in this part of the mountain and what twigs they did find were either green or damp from the snow. Hermione's copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ once again proved invaluable, however, and though she hated to see her favorite book destroyed, Ron made her laugh when he told her she could take his copy.

"It looks brand new; why bother studying from it when anytime I want to know something you can quote it word for word. Having a genius for a girlfriend sure has its advantages," Ron had said, and Hermione had turned bright red at the praise. Ron called her a know-it-all on a daily basis but never had he referred to her intelligence in a positive way—at least he had never been _this_ forward about it, and that fact that he had referred to her as his girlfriend had been doubly special.

It was stupid, really, how she was facing imminent death the next day but that all thoughts of that could be erased at Ron's simple mention of the word 'girlfriend.' She had laughed out-loud—she had needed a good laugh—and Ron had looked at her quizzically but had smiled and joined-in after a bit. This entire situation was just too ridiculous for words. When Hermione had gone from laughing hysterically to sobbing uncontrollably, Ron had held her and whispered soothing words in her hair. He had scooped her up onto his lap and was rocking her back and forth where she remained still. Her sobs had now been reduced to occasional hiccups and she held fistfuls of Ron's maroon jumper in her hands. She loved that jumper on him. She knew that for a long time, Ron had hated receiving them from his mother every Christmas, but Hermione adored the way it looked on him, how the color of the wool brought out his hair and his stormy blue eyes. There were so many things she loved about him, so many emotions coursing through her, emotions that she would never be able to convey with words. He made her feel alive and important and special all at once and when she was around him and close to him she felt so grateful to have found the kind of love most people searched their entire lives to find, and so afraid that it would come to an end all too soon. There were so many things she wanted to express to Ron before they left tomorrow, so many things she needed him to know. Hermione hadn't told Ron that she loved him because she didn't want it to sound as if she was saying goodbye, but what she couldn't tell him, she wanted him to know, and the only way she could do that was to show him.

"Make love to me, Ron," she whispered and lifted her head from his shoulder to look him in the eye. He'd been crying with her all this time.

"Are you sure?" he asked her, stroking her hair, then her cheek, and looking at her as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world, and at that moment, Hermione realized that to Ron, she _was _that woman; no matter how puffy her face was or how horrid her hair looked, Ron would _always_ think she was beautiful. Hermione did not vocalize her answer; instead, she kissed him. She kissed him with all the hunger she possessed and all the love in her heart. The kiss was passionate and tender all at once and Hermione knew that as long as she lived she would never want to kiss any other man.

~*~

It was much later that Hermione woke up to find that she was no longer in Ron's arms where she had fallen asleep. It was still dark, and the fire was still burning—Ron must have put on more wood—but Ron was not beside her. In fact, he was nowhere in sight. Hermione was startled when she heard footsteps approaching; for one terrifying moment she thought it was a Death Eater, but she was relieved to see that it was only Ron. As he came closer, she saw that he was carrying what looked to be two wands.

"Where did you get those?" she asked him, although she knew he must have sneaked into the Death Eaters' camp. "Are you daft? You could have been killed! Why didn't you wake me?" she asked in a panic, but Ron quieted her with a soft kiss.

"Don't worry; no one saw me. Everyone was too tuckered out from all that liquor," he told her, handing her a wand. Wands were specific to the wizard, and although one _could_ theoretically use another wizards' wand for magic, the magic would be much more volatile, harder to control, and less effective. Still, someone else's wand was better than no wand at all.

"You're sure no one saw you?" Hermione whispered, hugging him and verifying that he was still in one piece.

"Positive," he grinned, hugging her back and placing a kiss on her lips. They broke apart and he leaned-in to kiss her again. They were interrupted by a cold voice behind them.

"Don't be so sure of that, Mr. Weasley." It was Professor Snape.


	7. Don't Judge A Book...

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, etc. are the intellectual property of JKR; no infringement is intended.

****

Chapter 7: Don't Judge a Book…

Ron stood up to his full height, his fists clenched by his sides and ready to strike. Hermione's first instinct, on the other hand, was to pull the cloak up to her neck to cover herself before realizing that she was fully dressed underneath. Snape's gaze moved from Hermione to Ron and then back to Hermione again. One of his eyebrows lifted in a questioning manner and the corner of his snarl twitched a bit. 

"Isn't this cozy," he remarked, his snarl back in place. "Now what the bloody hell are you two doing out here…_besides_ playing house," he verbally jabbed and Ron's face turned red with anger—Hermione's turned red in embarrassment.

"You bloody git," Ron spat, and Snape's gaze darkened.

"That insolence, Weasley, towards a Hogwarts _Professor_, will cost Gryffindor greatly," he threatened, his voice low.

"You're no professor and I will _not_ show respect to a Death Eater. We know what Lucius Malfoy has planned for tonight; do you _really _think we're going to let you attack Hogsmeade?" Ron replied, and Hermione saw Snape's scowl waver for just a second.

"You know _nothing_, Weasley. Do not presume to know all that's happening here," Snape's voice was cold, but it was no different than how he usually treated them. Had he truly been a Death Eater, however, he would not even have bothered revealing himself to them; he would have killed them without hesitation.

"I believe you," Hermione said quietly. She could tell that she had stunned both of them—Snape couldn't believe she trusted him and Ron couldn't believe that she'd just agreed with a Death Eater over him. Hermione stood up next to Ron who looked at her incredulously.

"You can't be serious," he said.

"Listen to you _girlfriend_, Weasley," Snape said told him. He threw Hermione an apprising look, his gaze glued to her bandaged head. "She may not be much to look at, though that hair is an improvement, but for once something useful has come out of her mouth," Snape spat. People could usually get away with a lot if they were insulting Ron directly, but the minute they attacked Hermione, he always jumped at her defense. Snape knew that, and was using it to push Ron's buttons. At Snape's remark, then, Hermione knew that Ron was only seconds from lashing out and she put her hands around his arm to hold him back. Snape was only trying to provoke them, but this was not the time for fighting, not when they were the only three people who could stop the Death Eaters.

"Ron, I'm a little thirsty," Hermione feigned ill. "I think my head is starting to act up a little. Could you melt some snow so that I can have some water?" She was actually feeling fine, but she needed to speak to Snape and she knew that with Ron there, she'd spend more time breaking up fights between the two than actually getting a word in edgewise. Ron looked reluctant to leave, but after taking his cauldron out of his bag he retreated, throwing Snape a dirty look for good measure.

"What _are_ you two doing here, Miss. Granger?" Snape asked her. His voice was a little softer but that was not saying much.

"We were on the Hogwarts Express; our care broke away from the rest of the train and derailed." Hermione had intentionally hesitated on the 'broke away' to see what Snape's reaction would be. His nod showed that he understood…probably everything.

"And your head?" he asked, showing a rare wave of concern.

"I had a run-in with my trunk," Hermione replied flippantly, downplaying her injury.

"I see; well I suppose the reason you and Mr. Weasley have been stranded is partly my fault, for as you seem to be aware, the car did not break-away on its own. I had, however, thought it to be empty at the time."

"But why did you even attack the school train if you're not a Death Eater?"

"It was a way to prove myself to Malfoy who has for some time doubted where my loyalties lie. I had counted on derailing only the last car, blaming the failed attempt on the poor weather, and was certain that it was empty, as I have stated already. I could not see very well for the snow, of course, but had anyone been sitting in a compartment I _would_ have seen them…unless of course they were not sitting at all." Hermione blushed for she remembered how she had fallen on top of Ron and how her hair had wound itself around the button of his shirt; neither of them had been in any hurry to get up.

"It _is _a wonder that you didn't see us, then," she said, deciding to employ the ignorance approach although she was certain that Snape could see right through her.

"Yes…a wonder," he replied, and this time his snarl did not just twitch, it transformed into a knowing grin. Hermione had to look down at her feet as her cheeks flushed brightly. Snape's temporary moment of merriment, however, lasted only a second and he was soon back to the task at hand. "You had better give me those wands, Miss Granger, before Misters Crabbe and Goyle come-to and realize they're missing." His voice wasn't forceful at all, but he still meant what he said.

"But how will Ron and I protect ourselves? We can't just let Malfoy and his goons destroy Hogsmeade and attack Hogwarts students."

"You can, and you will, Miss. Granger. Simply because we are not in a school setting that does not mean that you can question my authority."

"We could be half-way home by now! We came back because we couldn't let you fight all by yourself." If Snape was surprised at Hermione's admission, his only reaction to it was a slight twitch of his eyebrows. He still looked every bit as surly as usual but when he spoke his voice was almost—friendly?

"Hermione," he said, and Hermione was taken aback because he had _never_ addressed her by her first name…not in seven years of having her as his top student, "give me back those wands. They wouldn't do you or Mr. Weasley any good anyway. They have been used for Dark Magic for too long and neither of you could control them very well. As for 'Malfoy and his goons,' it is up to me to put a stop to their actions. This is none of your concern and you will do well to remember that. Potter's 'heroic' comportment has put ideas in your head—preposterous ideas. This situation is unlike any of your previous childish escapades. Do _not_ believe yourself immortal," he finished and Hermione reluctantly gave him the two wands when he shot her a piercing glare. If Snape thought that she would give up entirely, however, he was sorely mistaken.

"You're daft, you know that?" Hermione asked, raising her voice. The fact that she was addressing a Hogwarts Professor was either completely lost on her, or she was choosing to ignore it. "You know," she continued, becoming a little more adamant, "we've always thought you were a complete twit. For seven years we've absolutely _loathed_ you; do you know how much convincing it took to get Ron to come back here? He's completely convinced that good or bad we should just let you die and right now, I'm not completely sure that I don't agree with him. Do you think that we don't know that we're probably going to die? After all we've been through, and we've only just—" she had been about to reveal the recent developments in her friendship with Ron but bit her tongue when she realized it. "—Well, regardless. We couldn't just ignore the fact that no matter how much we dislike you, you're still our only hope at defeating this. So if you think that we're going to let you do this alone then you _are_ the git we've always believed you to be," she finished. Ron had returned in the middle of her speech and now stood dumbstruck, staring at her. Snape looked slowly from one to the other.

"Very well," Snape relented after a moment, "but I still cannot allow you to keep these wands as they would only contribute to the suspicions over me. You will stay here until I send for you. Until then, you will both get some rest, and by rest I mean _sleep_," he looked crossly at the both of them before pulling a vial of clear liquid out of his pocket. He motioned Hermione to the side and spoke quietly to her. From Ron's position, one could hear nothing, only see Hermione blush profusely and shake her head when Snape asked her something. Snape tapped the vial with his wand and the liquid inside turned a deep purple. He handed it to Hermione, who accepted it shyly and drank it down, handing the vial back to Snape, though she did not meet his eyes. Snape threw a look over at Ron, muttered something else to Hermione, and then turned on his heels and walked back towards the Death Eater camp.

"What was that all about?" Ron asked her but Hermione shook her head.

"I'll tell you later," she muttered and she looked mortified.

"Did he say something to you?" Ron asked her, but Hermione placed a gently hand on his arm and mustered a smile—though it did not reach her eyes. Ron knew to drop the subject for the moment and he placed the cauldron near the fire where the snow melted. He let the water cool slightly before drinking and handing the cauldron to Hermione who did the same.

"We should get some sleep," Hermione whispered and headed for the cloak they'd been using as a bed. Ron came to lie beside her a minute later, but Hermione kept her eyes clamped shut and pretended to sleep. Not even when Ron placed his arm around her and snuggled close did she respond, and after what seemed like hours she finally did sleep.

~*~

Hermione slept, but she did not sleep well. Judging by the way Ron kept tossing beside her, it was apparent that he too was trying hard to get some rest but couldn't quite achieve it. Hermione's drams were filled with flashing green lights and the sensation of a thousand knives stabbing her at once. She dreamt of Ron lying on the ground but as dreams usually go, Ron turned into Crookshanks with a broken leg, hanging by the tail near a wall of silvery letters while Moaning Myrtle floated about, sporting yellow eyes and whiskers. Hermione woke with a start. It was daylight now and it was freezing. The fire was only barely lit and Hermione added some twigs to it, sitting up and hugging her knees as she stared in the revived flames. Snape had been concerned about her—genuinely concerned about her and that in itself was just so incredibly bizarre…_so_ unlike him. Maybe all these years his behavior had all been an act, although if that were so he deserved to become a professional.

When he'd pulled Hermione aside, he'd asked her whether she and Ron had used any protection the night before. Hermione was mortified even just thinking about it now. They hadn't, of course. She had slept with Ron with the certainty that she was going to die the next day. What was it about death that made people want to grab the nearest member of the opposite sex and 'go at it,' as Ginny had called it? Hermione and she had discussed the subject at length last summer when Ginny had stayed with Hermione one weekend and they'd spent the entire three days wishing that Ron and Harry were just a little more like the characters in the movies and that they would come to their senses and make their moves. Still, when they'd watched a movie where a giant asteroid threatened to destroy the Earth and kill everyone on it—a situation that Ginny had pointed out to be very unrealistic as everyone knew that the Ministry had highly trained wizards whose very job it was to divert the course of such objects—they had fallen into a conversation about death and sex. Essentially, they had gathered that when faced with death, it was the human imperative to reproduce so that on the off chance that one would survive, the legacy would live on. Of course, that was complete rubbish.

There was no chance of Hermione becoming pregnant as Snape had given her a potion to prevent it, and even though Hermione knew that she was by no means a mother, the thought of having a little red-haired boy running around, the spitting image of his father, warmed Hermione's heart. The thought that she and Ron could both contribute to making something so small and so beautiful was simply mind-boggling. Hermione knew that even though it could not happen right now, that it would inevitably happen one day. Before Snape had left he had also told her that if Ron did not marry her, he could not imagine any other man who would be able to keep up with her. 

If Hermione had slept with Ron it had not been because of some basic instinct for one last chance at reproduction. She had not merely 'slept' with Ron; she had shown him with actions what she could not tell him in words: that she loved him…that she would always love him. Now that they had Snape on their side, that they knew for certain that he was against the Death Eaters, they had a better chance to survive, a better chance to tell each other how they felt.

Hermione was not tired, but weary as she continued to stare into the flames. She could only hope that if on of them had to die it would be her; she knew that if Ron died, she would ease to exist, anyway. A stray tear fell down Hermione's cheek. She had cried more tears in the past three days than she had her entire life. She knew that she had to do this, but it was still so unfair. For the first time in her life she truly realized how Harry must have felt every time he stepped into a situation like this one, and she felt a new-found respect for her best-friend…now a man; one that she loved as a brother. 

"I'm never going to give Harry trouble about his legacy again," Ron muttered, sitting up behind Hermione and inching closer to the fire in search of warmth. It was a wonder how they were always on the same train of thought and that never ceased to amaze her. This only served to reinforce Hermione's conviction that they were indeed on together…as schmaltzy as it sounded, she knew that they were meant to be.

"I know exactly what you mean," she answered Ron, wiping her cheeks from their lingering tears.

"Hermione," Ron began, placing his hand on her shoulder. He seemed uncertain, even reluctant. Hermione turned to look at him and his facial expression mirrored his doubt. "Is everything alright? Do you regret…"

"_No_," Hermione answered adamantly. "I don't regret last night. I won't regret what happened as long as I live," she told him with conviction and Ron's tension vanished immediately.

"Good," he responded, smiling slightly. He was as torn up over their situation as she was. They were about to embrace when noises from the Death Eater camp alerted them that something was happening—and whatever it was, it could _not_ be good.

"Bugger! What the bloody hell was that?!" Ron exclaimed; he and Hermione jumped to their feet and ran as more shouts and sounds of struggle were heard. When they neared the spot from which they'd observed the Death Eaters the night before, both of them instinctively crouched-down low so as not to be seen. When they finally made sense of the chaos before them, their hearts caught in their throats. Amidst the crowd of Death Eaters was one whose robes were torn and whose face was very badly bruised. It was, of course, Professor Snape who was barely conscious as the Death Eaters dragging him threw him on the ground and one of them kicked him in the ribs. Hermione made as if to run towards the camp but Ron stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Don't," he whispered, "we won't be any help if we're caught."

"But they'll kill him!" Hermione insisted, barely able to keep her voice quiet or the fear from appearing on her face.

"He took the wands, remember? Just wait—maybe something will come up. Maybe they'll let him go." Hermione threw him a look. "Well it _might _happen," Ron defended himself.

"We can't just stand here and let him get killed. We have to do _some_thing!" Hermione continued as she watched the Death Eaters beat Snape some more before Lucius Malfoy spoke-up.

"We have a traitor among us!" Malfoy yelled as the thralls of Death Eaters calmed-down to listen. Snape was still on the ground, but at least no one was hitting him. He tried to get up but only managed to raise himself on all fours, clutching his ribs. "Severus Snape, you have shown yourself disloyal to the Dark Lord. For a long time I have suspected this man of being less than commitent to our cause, and tonight those suspicions were founded when this slime was found sneaking in the tents of Misters Crabbe and Goyle—" Hermione heard a soft expletive coming from Ron before he got up and doubled back to their camp. Hermione didn't have time to ask him what he was doing, and she feared that if she followed him she might be made-out and captured also. She hoped that Ron would be back soon, and turned back to the Death Eaters.

"This 'man'," Malfoy spat, still speaking about Snape, "this traitor has been serving the Muggle lover Dumbledore all these years. He has been tortured and interrogated at length. We have no use for him. What have you to say for yourself, _slime_, before we kill you?" Hermione turned just in time to see Ron running back to her, carrying all of their things. He winked at her, and took her hand.

"Get ready to run," he whispered. They looked back at Snape who had managed to stand upright, though it was with much pain.

"Go to hell, Malfoy," he drawled, and spat on the snow at Malfoy's feet. The look on Malfoy's face clouded over and he raised his wand, the Killing Curse on the edge of his tongue, no doubt, but before he could utter it, a small explosion went-off at Hermione's back and then a series of other ones. Hermione had no time to wonder what was happening for as the Death Eaters were distracted by the noise, Ron pulled Hermione into a run, both keeping as low to the ground as they could, and led them into the nearest tent. They paused, catching their breaths as Hermione looked around her.

"No what?" she asked.

"I don't know; I'm playing it by ear," he replied, and peeked out the tent. Only two Death Eaters were outside. There were shouts in the distance and Hermione heard Lucius Malfoy issue the order to search the mountainside. Ron snickered.

"Stupid git; wouldn't occur to him that we might be right under his nose, would it?"

"I say be thankful for that, Ron; for once, it's a good thing that all Malfoys are idiots."

"I suppose this is one of those few times where I'm happy that Malfoy's an idiot, and I'm even happier that it runs in the family.

""Yes, well, that's all well and good, but what now? If we stay here it's only a matter of time before someone falls upon us and then we're in Barney for sure."

"You don't say!" Ron replied sarcastically. Women were so irrational sometimes—no wonder he liked them so much. Ron peeked-out the tent again; one of the Death Eaters was still standing a few feet outside, his back facing them, while the other had taken to watching Professor Snape, probably in the hopes that the latter would try to escape so that the former would have an excuse to perform the Cruciatus curse on him until Malfoy could come back and finish what he'd started.

Ron looked around the tent they were in, the gears in his head turning as he formulated a plan. They were, after all, in a kitchen; he walked to one side of the tent where there were a collection of heavy cast iron pans and picked one up, weighing it. Hermione caught the glint in his eye and immediately understood what he was thinking. She nodded her assent as Ron turned back to the tent flap. 

"Psst," he whispered, getting the Death Eater's attention. 

When the Death Eater entered the tent to investigate, all he saw was Hermione standing in the middle of the room looking sheepishly at him before he felt his skull crack underneath the weight of the skillet. Hermione looked down almost sympathetically at the Death Eater.

"Trust me, that's no fun," she told him, subconsciously clutching at her bandage before turning to Ron with a smile. "Forget about Quidditch; you should consider a baseball career," Ron looked at her blankly, missing the reference. "I'll explain later," Hermione said.

"Ready for an encore performance?" Ron asked, helping Hermione drag the knocked-out Death Eater into a corner before they got back to business.

"Yes; show me my public," she joked, and Ron returned to his position behind the tent flap. After several tries at gaining the man's attention with whispered 'pssts' and failing, Ron tried another tactic on the burly Death Eater. Putting-on his slimiest voice, he called to him.

"Oi, mate! Come see this, looks like Brother Malfoy's been keeping his own stash of Treacle Pudding!"" At the mention of food, and the implication that someone might be eating something he wasn't privy to, the Death Eater left his watch over Snape and ambled into the tent. As with the previous Death Eater, Ron swung with all his might, satisfaction coursing through him as he felt the hard metal of the pan connect with the man's head. The burly Death Eater swayed for a few seconds and eventually collapsed. It took quite a bit longer to drag him into a corner due to his weight, but after a few minutes the bodies of both Death Eaters were well concealed.

"They won't be too happy when they wake-up; luckily we'll be far away by then," Ron said as Hermione and he left their tent…only to find Snape gone. Hermione's heart leapt in her throat until she spotted him ambling out of a tent, clutching his wand. The couple rant to him.

"If that was your idea of a signal, I'd think of a better one next time," Ron teased, trying to lighten the mood. Snape threw him a look that was almost amused, although he tried to cover it with a scowl.

"I'm surprised the two of you haven't gotten yourselves killed, yet," he told them, trying to sound authoritative but not quite achieving it.

"Yes, yes, let's keep the lecturing to a minimum until we get out of here if you don't mind. You can give us all the detentions you want when we get back to Hogwarts, but don't forget that we _did_ just save your hide," Ron told Snape who was still clutching his ribs. Hermione looked at Snape standing in front of her for a second before snatching the wand out of his hands and pointing it at him, her brow furrowed.

"Hermione!?" Ron gasped as he now watched Hermione threatening a man with his own wand.

"Miss Granger," Snape echoed cautiously, although he looked as if he was in too much pain to defend himself at this point. Ron seriously believed for a second that Hermione was under the Imperius curse and that her mind was being controlled; when a series of Latin words came out of her mouth, he shut his eyes tightly, fearing the worst.

"Than you," Ron heard Professor Snape mutter grudgingly a second later, and the fact that there were no screams of pain being uttered indicated that it was safe to open his eyes again. He did so in time to see Hermione—who looked very smug—hand Snape back his wand; surprisingly, Snape was looking as if he was in less pain, and was standing a little bit more upright.

"A modified binding charm," Hermione explained proudly to Ron. "Rather than metaphorically binding his magic, I physically bound his ribs," she exclaimed.

"I'm sure Professor Flitwick will be very proud," Ron managed to croak-out, still in too much shock to say much of anything else. Hermione looked pleased at the praise, and Ron could only stare at her some more.

"Yes, yes, very touching moment indeed, but now let it be my turn to remind you that it would be imperative for us to leave…post haste," Snape interrupted, foreseeing a schmaltzy moment between the two that they just could not afford at the moment. Snape rolled his eyes and turned his back on the couple, trying to see a way away from the Death Eaters. Unfortunately, as Ron and Hermione had found-out before, the only way to make it back to Hogsmeade safely was to go through the mountains. With a few distractions, they would be able to get by the Death Eaters relatively easily, and once they were in the mountain they would be relatively safe.

"So, what now?" Hermione asked, looking at Ron who's jaw was still on the ground and turning her gaze to Snape who was now scowling even more than was normal for him.

"I don't like that look on your face," Ron said, finally snapping out of his trance. Indeed, Snape was facing a crucial decision. He and Hermione would not be able to make it up the mountain injured as they were, but Ron had no major injuries to speak of and he was by far the strongest of them all. If he could make it to Hogsmeade and get word to Dumbledore of the attack, then he and Hermione might stay behind and attempt to stall the Death Eaters. They only stood half a chance of pulling-off something like that but half a chance was better than no chance at all—which was precisely what they had if they stayed there pondering their options. The only problem Snape had, then, lay in convincing the two lovebirds to see matters his way.

~*~

She had cried, and so had he although he'd hidden it from her. He'd put on a brave face, had told her—promised her—that he would see her in Hogsmeade. Ron felt as though his heart had been torn out of his chest, as though his very breath had been stolen from his lungs. Their good-byes had been short, much too short. Ron wanted to trade places with Hermione. More than anything now he wanted to be the one who was injured. Climbing a mountain was fannying about compared to facing an army of Death Eaters. Even though Ron knew that Snape would give his life before letting anything happen to Hermione it did not reassure him any. He was eighteen years old, a mere child, but he felt at least eighty. Here he was with the fate of an entire people on his shoulders, and his girlfriend facing certain death behind him. These were not events that he was supposed to face. He was supposed to be worrying about what he was going to do once he left Hogwarts and about how he would ask Hermione to accompany him to the Graduation Ball. Death and Mayhem were words that should have been obsolete from his vocabulary but instead they were the most prominent. He supposed that's what it meant to be Harry Potter's best friend. Until the Dark Lord was defeated, trouble would always follow them wherever they went…it was inevitable, really. Ron would do anything to help Harry, and realistically speaking it was only a matter of time before something happened to one of them. They were young but by no means invincible. They had survived seven years of attempts on their lives. One of these days, one of them would fail to come out unscathed.

"I love you, Hermione," Ron whispered. Even though Hermione wasn't there to hear him, somehow getting the words out helped him, soothed him. Ron continued on his trek, picking-up pace. Whatever Hermione was doing, he hoped that she was all right.

~*~

At the Death Eaters camp, however, things were far from being all right. The tents were all ablaze, the flames setting an orange glow to the smoke-invaded clearing. Clouds hid the sun and the atmosphere was one of gloom, and panic. Among the shouts of frantic men, Professor Severus Snape and Hermione Granger had spent the past several hours keeping the returned inhabitants of the camp at bay. Somewhere along the outreaches, Snape and Hermione had been separated and now, blood streaming freely from her head and several gashes on her arms, Hermione Granger collapsed.

"I love you, Ron," she whispered with difficulty, clutching her charm bracelet…her last link to the man she loved…as her eyes rolled into her head and darkness overtook her.


	8. Heroic Actions and Happy Endings

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, etc. are the intellectual property of JKR; no infringement is intended.

****

Chapter 8: Heroic Tendencies and Happy Endings

Ron's trip had lasted fourteen hours. Even years from then he would continue to wonder where he had mustered the strength to overcome cold and exhaustion to make it to Hogsmeade so quickly. The Death Eaters had been scheduled to strike at nightfall and for one terrible moment Ron had been afraid that he wouldn't make it. It was, after all, well after dark when he'd finally stumbled into the Three Broomsticks on the point of passing out. Professor Snape and Hermione had done what they'd sought-out to do. They'd stalled the Death Eaters. It had taken a lot of failed attempts before Ron was coherent enough to explain what had happened and why it was imperative that he see Dumbledore. Once Madam Rosmerta had gotten a clue to what he was saying, she hadn't wasted any time summoning the headmaster, however. Every pair of eye in the dingy bar rested on Ron during the time it took the Hogwarts Headmaster to make it down from the castle and into the town. Ron noticed that none of the teachers were there…something that struck him as slightly odd for a Hogsmeade weekend. He said as much but Madam Rosmerta was too busy fussing over him with a blanket and trying to force-feed him some soup to answer. For once in his life, however, Ron was not hungry. He was even far from it. He was much too worried about Hermione and much too surprised that he'd actually made it to Hogsmeade to even think about eating. Even the fact that he hadn't stopped shivering since he'd stumbled into the building didn't seem to register with him. His trip had left him weak but whereas any normal person would long have collapsed, Ron held on. He would rest once he told Dumbledore what was happening and once he knew for sure that Hermione was all right.

When the headmaster walked into the Three Broomsticks, barely a quarter of an hour had passed since he'd been summoned. Dumbledore's bright purple robes and tall hat made him stand out from the dingy dark interior of the bar and its inhabitants. It took Ron a few seconds to register his arrival, but as soon as he did he launched into his story, speaking frantically and gesticulating with great urgency. Dumbledore listened without interruption and when Ron was finished he motioned for Madam Rosmerta and said something to her. Madam Rosmerta nodded and reached behind the bar for a pouch, which she handed to the silver-haired man. Dumbledore accepted the bag with thanks and walked to the fireplace.

"Minerva, we've found Mr. Weasley; he's safe and sound although perhaps Poppy should have a look at him." Dumbledore spoke to Professor McGonagall's head floating in the hearth, a few minutes later.

"Merlin's word, thank goodness he's all right. What of Miss. Granger?" the professor asked hopefully.

"Unfortunately, she and Mr. Weasley stumbled upon some troublesome circumstances. Miss. Granger is with Severus."

"Severus!?" Professor McGonagall exclaimed, registering the implication, "but Severus is—"

"Yes, Minerva; now you understand why it is imperative that we find her. Mr. Weasley has given me her approximate location and as soon as I return him to the castle we must make advances to send Severus reinforcements. His true agenda has been revealed, and he will undoubtedly be killed immediately upon recapture. Notify Remus and Snuffles as well as the rest of the Order."

"Of course, Albus. Consider it done."

"Good, and Minerva?" Dumbledore added.

"Yes, Albus?"

"Notify Miss. Weasley that her brother is well. We will be back shortly."

"Of course," Prof. McGonagall said before her head disappeared with a faint 'pop.'

Professor Dumbledore turned-away from the fireplace and back to Ron who was still sitting in the same stool. Madam Rosmerta had finally succeeded in making him swallow a few spoonfuls of soup and he looked a little livelier though not much. He was very pale, almost deathly so, and his bright hair only succeeded in making him appear more white.

"Are you able to stand?" Dumbledore asked him. Ron nodded and did so. He was rather shaky, it was true, but he'd once succeeded to stand up to a would-be murderer on a broken leg. A few battered muscles surely were no match. He followed Dumbledore outside and into one of the horseless carriages. When they reached Hogwarts, Madam Pomfrey, who ushered Ron onto a floating stretcher despite his protests that he was able to walk and did not need any attention, immediately intercepted them.

"Rubbish! Mr. Potter has had a bad influence on you, Mr. Weasley. Now I expect no more trouble from you or I'll see to it that you spend the entire week in the hospital ward," Madam Pomfrey told him, and the threat was enough to quiet him down.

The hospital ward seemed terribly stuffy to Ron. Aside from the advantages that came from being _in_ the hospital wing—the sweets and the get-well cards, and what not—the hospital wing _itself_ was a place that Ron despised. Too many bad things came to mind when he was there. Harry, Hermione, and he had seemed to finish every year with one of them on the brink of death or recovering from some accident; it was only normal that the place would give him goose flesh. 

Madam Pomfrey's first order of business when she had finally settled him into one of the beds had been to attempt to feed him a sleeping drought which Ron flatly refused to take no matter how many extra days he would be forced to spend there.

"I'll sleep when Hermione's safe and sound in the next bed," he had finally told her at which point Madam Pomfrey seemed to have suddenly gone all teary-eyed and fussed with Ron's blankets, tucking him in so tightly that breathing was beginning to become difficult. At least she gave-up on trying to get him to sleep and excused herself. A few minutes later Ron heard Ginny's voice outside the ward.

"Where is he? Is he all right? Was Hermione with him? What happened to them?" Ron heard his sister's barrage of questions and for the first time it dawned on him how much everyone must have worried about them. Ginny was still berating Madam Pomfrey with endless questions when Ron heard Harry's voice within the mix.

"Ginny," Ron heard his best friend say in a soothing, appeasing tone that he'd never heard from him before. "Madam Pomfrey doesn't know the answers to all your questions, and even if she did this isn't the time. Professor Dumbledore said Ron was all right. I'm sure he wants to see you as much as you want to see him; he'll explain what happened better than anyone can," Harry said, and he heard Ginny sniffle and assumed that she had nodded her acquiescence for he had not heard her say anything and a moment later the hospital ward door opened and both Harry and Ginny walked-in.

As soon as she saw Ron, Ginny burst into tears and ran to him, throwing her arms around him. Ron pat her on the head, making light of the situation by teasing her about the waterworks. He looked over Ginny's shoulder at his best friend of seven years who, despite the brave look he was trying to portray, seemed just as grim as Ron's baby sister.

"Fancy meeting you here, Harry. It seems as if our roles have been reversed for once," Ron joked, and Harry smiled slightly.

"Yeah, but still no scar, I see," Harry joked back. In their fourth year at Hogwarts the two had had a major disagreement in which Harry had accused Ron of being jealous and had suggested that perhaps if he were to sport a scar he might be a little less desirous of him. The issue had become a private joke between the two of them over the past three years.

"What, and ruin these good looks? Besides, I don't think the female population at Hogwarts could handle two super-heroes," he grinned and Harry seemed to relax considerably, content with the fact that Ron was indeed only the worst for wear. Ginny let go of Ron, wiping at her eyes, and Ron motioned to Harry. "Ah, come 'ere, mate," he said as Harry and he embraced—in a most manly manner—before breaking apart. Ginny stood beside Harry, wiping at her eyes and sniffling sporadically.

"In all seriousness, you're sure you're all right?" Ginny asked and Ron smiled reassuringly.

"Yes, of course I'm sure; don't be stupid, Ginny, do you really think I'd be daft enough to go and get myself killed six months before graduation? What, and waste seven years stuck in school for nothing?" Ron joked again.

"Hermione would certainly have a field day with that one," Ginny smiled, but when she heard Ron's sharp intake of breath she realized that Hermione was still missing and a new wave of tears threatened to break through. She had been, for several years now, aware of Hermione's feelings for Ron, but had only suspected that her brother reciprocated them. Now, however, her suspicions could no longer go unfounded for the look in Ron's eyes at that moment said it all.

"Ron, what the bloody hell happened to the two of you?" Harry finally asked; he rarely swore and the fact that he did so now betrayed his urgency in needing to know what had gone on. The fact that Ron was alive and well did not elude him, but Hermione was also his best friend, and he needed to know what kind of threat she was in—if the Order had been called, it had to be serious.

~*~

Ron had left out several of the racier parts to what had happened to him and Hermione. It was safe to say, actually, that he'd left out the whole of what had happened in their relationship entirely. The portion about the Death Eaters was evidently not what Harry and Ginny had expected from the looks on their faces when he'd told them, although Harry seemed entirely unsurprised at the fact that Professor Snape had infiltrated the Death Eaters as a spy. By the time Ron had finished retelling the story, he couldn't help but notice that Ginny was standing entirely too close to Harry to argue that they were 'only friends' and that Harry's and Ginny's fingers were linked together. Apparently Hermione _hadn't_ been kidding when she'd said that the two fancied each other. Ron's big brother instincts were starting to kick-in but before he could say, or do, anything, Professor McGonagall had walked-in to the infirmary. It had been approximately three hours since Ron's return, and time enough for reinforcements to have Apparated from Hogsmeade into the Death Eater camp. The grim look on McGonagall's face, then, was not reassuring in the least.

"Professor?" Ginny mustered, her voice quivering as she saw the expression on the adult's face.

"I'm sorry," was all Professor McGonagall could say for she had much trouble keeping her voice from cracking.

"She's not dead," Ron interrupted what the professor was saying. Ginny had already broke down completely, and had shrunk against Harry whose eyes were also glistening with unshed tears.

"Ron," Harry said, trying to calm his friend down, but Ron could not be appeased.

"Listen to me, she's _not_ dead," he said, adamantly. "Where is she? Where's her body? I want to see her," he continued.

"Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall said as a tear rolled down her cheek despite the effort she was exerting to keep them inside. "Ronald," she continued, discarding the civilities. 

"I want to see her!" Ron yelled, causing Madam Pomfrey to rush-in to see what was disturbing her patient, but at the sight of Professor McGonagall's expression, she understood that this was not the time, and returned to her office.

"We…we haven't found her body," Professor McGonagall whispered, uttering the last word with great difficulty. Ginny sobbed more violently, and even Harry let the tears flow freely down his face as he clutched to her, trying to gain as much comfort as he might have been giving. Only Ron seemed to be unaffected by the news.

"Then how do you know? She's not dead, I'm telling you," he said, and turned to Harry. "Harry, please; she's not dead…I would _know_ if she were," he whispered, causing Professor McGonagall to sob loudly as she tried to control herself with more urgency. Harry could only look at his best friend and admire the conviction in his eyes. Ron believed that Hermione was alive, he believed it with every fiber of his being and Harry could plainly see it. He knew how the Death Eaters worked, and although Hermione hadn't been found that did not by any means mean that she was still alive, but somehow the spark in his friend's eyes told him not to discount what he was saying. Harry had only recently realized the strength of his feelings for Ginny, but he knew that if something happened to her part of him would die with her. He'd believed for several years that Ron and Hermione had an unspoken connection; he'd known of their feelings for each other although neither had actually approached him with them. If there was any chance at all that Hermione could be found, then only Ron would be able to find her. Harry suspected that Ron had left-out some of what had happened between the two of them while they had been stranded; he was only happy that at last they had been able to be honest with each other, if Hermione really was…well at least they would know how the other felt. Harry looked at Ron once more. His friend's blue eyes burned into the opaline depths of his own, and Harry felt the desperation in the gaze…he sensed how much Ron needed him to believe.

"Alright," Harry said finally after a heavy silence that was broken only by the sounds of Ginny's crying. "Let's go find her," he said, and Ron looked at him gratefully as he lifted himself from the hospital bed and reached for his clothes. He got dressed quickly while Harry confided Ginny to Professor McGonagall who looked at him with extreme pride. She became temporarily deaf and blind as the two seventh year boys slipped-out of the hospital wing. Hearing the sound of the door, Madam Pomfrey re-entered the room to find her patient gone.

"Minerva?" she questioned Professor McGonagall who tried hard to suppress a smile as her eyes filled with tears of pride.

"Yes, Poppy, what is it?" she played dumb.

"Mr. Weasley is gone," Madam Pomfrey said, unimpressed.

"Well, so it seems," Professor McGonagall remarked, and Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes in frustration, muttering something about incorrigible students, and how they'd never learn if the Professors were against her, too.

~*~

They had taken the invisibility cloak, and Harry had rummaged the kitchens for supplies while Ron put-on layer upon layer of the warmest clothes he possessed and packed blankets and things for when they found Hermione. They did not know how to Apparate nor could they make the trek on foot if they were to reach Hermione in time. Though Ron was certain that she was still alive, they did not know how badly injured she was. Harry had therefore asked Dobby for help, and as the house-elf revered both he and Ron, he was only too happy to oblige, and had immediately linked the old cabin's fireplace to the Floo Network…a feat that would ordinarily have taken weeks if they had been to go through the proper channels. Even though the cabin was roughly two hours from the Death Eater camp, it was the closest they could get in their time constraints, and the sooner Ron got back, the better he would feel. 

Harry joined his friend in Gryffindor Tower, having already changed into proper attire and carrying his bag of supplies. Ron was already in the Common Room, by the fireplace waiting for him, and Harry reached into his pocket for the pouch of Floo Powder that Dobby had—borrowed—for him.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked Ron; he had been more than willing to go look for Hermione by himself. Ron was still tired from his ordeal, and the excess exertion was not good for him, but Ron had flatly refused the offer and Harry knew better than to argue when Ron was in this state of mind.

"Let's go," Ron replied, taking a pinch of the Floo Powder. "The Cabin!" he yelled a second later before stepping into a cloud of green smoke. Harry did the same and a few minutes later emerged behind him in the very same cabin where Ron and Hermione had spent two nights when they'd first been stranded. The cabin was not in the least charming, but as Ron looked around he couldn't help but feel as if he'd just come home…the place held some of his best memories.

Little was said between Harry and Ron as the latter led the way from the cabin to the Death Eater camp. Both were caught in their own thoughts, and talking was not something either of them wished to do. The hike to the camp took little time, and they knew several minutes before they arrived that they were closing in on their goal. The air was acrid with the smell of smoke, and some of the tents were still burning casting the same orange glow that had led Ron and Hermione to the camp the night before, only this time it was much more vivid as its source was much larger. The camp was deserted, however; though Harry and Ron had not been informed of what had happened exactly, it was only reasonable to assume that the Death Eaters had been apprehended and were being questioned by the Ministry before being sent to Azkaban. Harry looked around at the destruction that had taken place. Although all of the bodies had been cleared-out…for there had undoubtedly been fatalities…it was easy to see how one might have been overlooked. There was rubble everywhere; it looked like a war zone. If Hermione was still alive and had been overlooked, it would take them a long time to find her. Harry risked a glance at Ron who was also surveying the scene. Until then, Ron had always had a glimmer of hope, but for the first time Harry saw that glimmer flicker and a look of apprehension cloud-over Ron's expression.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, placing a hand on Ron's shoulder. The gesture caused Ron to snap-out of whatever thought he might have been having, and he shook himself.

"I'm fine," he said, looking again at the destruction. "You go to the other side of the camp, and I'll start here. Don't leave anything unturned," Ron said, and Harry nodded. The chances that they would find Hermione were so slim that even Harry recognized the possibility that she was probably long gone, but the determination he had seen in Ron's eyes back in the infirmary made him push the negative thoughts to the back of his head and he moved to the other side of the camp where he systematically began to search through the rubble in the small hope that maybe, perhaps, his best friend lay underneath it, still alive.

~*~

Hermione awoke to darkness, pain, and cold; she only marginally recalled what had happened at the Death Eater camp, but remembered being hit in the head and thinking to herself how only with her luck she would receive the same injury twice in the span of three days. She tried to move, but the pain in her arm where she had been cut during her fight and the nausea caused by her second concussion made it impossible. She was aware of the dampness beneath her and of the cold seeping in through her clothing. She was beyond shivering, and even her teeth were beyond chattering. She looked around her as much as she could without moving her head; she was very dizzy, and her vision was incredibly cloudy, but still she located two large rocks that flanked her on both sides, and she recalled having sought shelter there to deflect the spells of the Death Eaters while she and Professor Snape had faced them. She tried to listen for noises that might have alerted her to their presence, but all she heard was silence. For a moment, she was afraid that perhaps she had gone deaf but the sound of a hawk overhead reassured her. The smell of smoke clung to the air and she could see the faint glow of flames in the distance. She had stationed herself at the outskirts of the camp on Professor Snape's instructions, but they had lost track of each other sometime during the course of the fight. She prayed that he was all right and that Ron had made it back to Hogsmeade safely. She didn't remember at exactly what point she had lost consciousness, but she remembered that the Death Eaters had been becoming harder to keep at bay, and their spells more numerous and more difficult to deflect with the wand she had stolen from the Death Eater she and Ron had first knocked-out.

Hermione tried to lift her hand to explore her second head wound but found that even it was too numb to move. She knew she had lost even more blood. She could feel the sticky liquid trickling down the side of her face and could smell its metallic odor in the air around her, blending with the smell of smoke. For the first time in her life, Hermione was certain that she was to die. There was no help for miles, her injuries were too severe for her to move a limb let alone crawl to safety, and she was suffering from hypothermia. She knew the last bit because she'd read about hypothermia in a book once, and the urge to just sleep was becoming harder and harder to fight. She couldn't keep her eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time because of the pain in her head and to just let go and let herself fall into a deep slumber would be so easy. She wouldn't feel any pain, and perhaps she would finally be at peace, but a voice in her head was telling her not to give up, to stay awake. The voice seemed far away, as if she were in a tunnel and someone were yelling at her from the other end. She tried to tell the voice to shut-up, but it wouldn't listen to her.

"That's my girl," it said when she cursed a particularly blasphemous word, and Hermione opened her eyes just a crack. Not only was she hearing things, but she was seeing things, too, because before she passed-out again, Hermione could have sworn that she'd seen a head of bright red hair standing over her. 

~*~

"I think she's waking up," Hermione heard someone say. She tried to open her eyes, but the bright light beyond their lids was doing wonders for her head.

"Ssh, of course she's going to wake-up if you keep yelling like that, Ginny," she heard Ron scold, at which she smiled.

"You're not exactly the personification of quiet either," she muttered, her voice so scratchy that she barely recognized it as her own.

"I'll go get Madam Pomfrey," she heard Ginny say, and a second later she felt Ron squeeze her hand.

"Hi," he said, and Hermione tried opening her eyes again. After a few tries she was able to open them enough to see him sitting by her side.

"Hey yourself," she said, wincing at the pain in her head. "If this is what a hang-over feels like, remind me never to get sloshed," she told him, and was gratified when Ron chuckled lightly before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Would you keep it down over there? Can't a patient get some rest in this place?" Hermione heard a voice that sounded very irritated coming from the next curtain.

"Is that--?" she asked Ron who chuckled again before nodding.

"Sorry, Professor Snape," he said, before whispering to Hermione. "Ever since he's been here he's felt the need to act all surly to make-up for the three minutes of being nice to us in the mountain. I think he wants to keep his reputation intact," he smiled, and pushed a strand of hair out of Hermione's face. Hermione chuckled, but had to stop herself.

"Ouch, don't make me laugh," she said, clutching her head with a bandaged arm. Madam Pomfrey walked-in a second later followed by Ginny and shooed them out of the curtained area so that she could examine Hermione.

"You were very lucky; as careless as it was for Mr. Weasley to quit his bed to search for you, if he hadn't found you when he did you may not have survived the ordeal," Madam Pomfrey told her, verifying that her bandages were tight enough and fluffing her pillows before tearing-up and rushing back to her office.

"That's twice she's done that in front of me," Ron frowned as he watched Madam Pomfrey retreat to the back of the infirmary. Hermione smiled at him, and extended her hand which Ron took and laced his fingers through with hers.

"Where's Harry?" Hermione asked, but before Ron could answer he walked-into the infirmary.

"Speak of the devil," Ron snickered as his raven-haired friend walked in, kissing Ginny on the cheek when he reached her. Hermione looked at them both, gaping, and turned her eyes to Ron who was purposely evading the couple's display of affection by staring at the opposite wall. Harry then bent down and kissed Hermione's cheek, much to Ron's dismay who turned an even brighter red. Hermione tried hard not to laugh at Ron's unfounded jealousy not only because it would cause her head to pound but because she didn't want to embarrass Ron who had always had a kind of inferiority complex.

"I'm glad you're all right," Harry told her, squeezing her other hand as Ron still had a death grip on her right one.

"Thank you; I have to say, I'm rather glad myself," she said, and for the next several minutes it was as if the ordeal had never happened as the four of them caught-up with what had happened over Christmas vacation…much to Ron's dismay who, it seemed, had had enough of hearing the story of Ginny and Harry's hook-up the first time without hitting anyone without having to hear it again. After a half hour of talking…and of listening to Professor Snape complaining from the other bed about his sudden nausea every time Ginny mentioned how cute Harry had been or vicky verky…Madam Pomfrey came to tell them all that Hermione was to be left alone to rest, although she let Ron stay for a few extra minutes, her eyes filling with tears again.

"I was really afraid that I'd lost you," he told her after a few minutes, his voice a whisper, "but I refused to believe that you were gone…even when Professor McGonagall came to tell us that you were lost, I just couldn't face it," he said, his voice cracking.

"I'm sorry I gave you such a scare; to be perfectly honest, there was a time where I thought I was a goner, myself," she revealed.

"I'm just glad we found you in time," Ron told her, kissing her forehead again.

"How did you find me? I was nowhere near the Death Eater camp," she said.

"I don't know," Ron answered truthfully, "Harry and I tore what was left of that camp apart, to the point where Harry was convinced that there was no chance we would find you; I was almost convinced, and we'd started walking back to the cabin when something told me to take a look at the outskirts, by the boulders. I don't know what did it, I just know that all of a sudden, I _had_ to make sure, and then we found you talking to yourself, and I told you to hold on, and you told me to—" he whispered the phrase in her ear and Hermione turned red.

"I did not!" she defended herself, but Ron grinned down at her, his face full of pride.

"You sure did," he told her, still smiling wide. "That's when I knew you'd be alright, because there's no way you would let yourself die having those as your last words…the entire wizarding world would have been aghast at the thought," he teased her, and Hermione made a half-hearted attempt at hitting him, but Ron caught her hand easily. He bent down until his lips were mere inches from hers, and looked into her eyes. "Now that we know for sure neither of us is going to die, there's something that I've been meaning to say," he whispered.

"Yeah?" Hermione asked, looking back up at him.

"Yeah; I love you, Hermione," he said, smiling.

Hermione smiled back, "I love you too, Ron," she responded, and morning breath be damned she kissed him, both oblivious to the writhing noises of Professor Snape in the next curtain, stuck with a broken leg and a concussion that might give Hermione a run for her money and forced to listen to their schmaltzy comments…although if one had looked closely, they might have spotted the hint of a smile behind his snarl.

--THE END—


	9. Epilogue

Disclaimer: Harry Potter etc. are the intellectual property of JKR; no infringement is intended.

****

Epilogue

"Ron, where are you taking me?" Hermione asked him for the hundredth time that day. Three years since they'd finally admitted to each other how they felt, and Ron still never ceased to amaze her. He was all Hermione had ever dreamed of, all she'd ever wished for, and now he was hers; sure, it had taken a near death experience to get them to admit their feelings, and as insane as it might sound Hermione was actually quite glad for having almost been killed. Who knew how long it would have taken her to fess up to her feelings if she hadn't? At the moment, however, Hermione was feeling just a tad bit insecure. Ron had been acting bizarre all week, and that morning he had gotten up before she had…an even that in itself was unprecedented…only to announce shortly thereafter that he needed to talk to her. _He's going to break up with me_ had been her first thought. No matter how many times Ron reassured her that she was the only woman for him, she couldn't help but feel that somehow it had been too easy, that she was just too lucky for something so wonderful to last.

"Hermione, I'm _not_ going to say it again. For once, would you just trust me without arguing?" she heard Ron say from somewhere behind her. Had she been able to see him she would undoubtedly have given him a very stern look, but as she had been expertly blindfolded a few moments before she could only pretend to glare at him. 

"But, _Ron_," she protested in a voice that sounded very much like a toddler's. Ever since Ron and Harry had disappeared the week before on a trip that Ron insisted was only 'business', he had been acting reserved, even nervous at times. Hermione had at first attributed it to a bad case of nerves, as Ron had just begun his training as an Auror, but the week had progressed and Ron's behaviour had only worsened despite his assurances that work was going quite well, and that he very much enjoyed his new position. 

"But, _Hermione_," Ron mocked her, and Hermione felt him stand behind her to verify that her blindfold was properly in place. "I'll tell you what, _shnookums_," he said, using the term he always did when he was humouring her. She didn't know where it had first originated, but Hermione rolled her eyes at hearing it, knowing full well that Ron couldn't see her.

"What's that, _pooky_?" she responded, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She wasn't angry in the least, but rather irritated at this whole childish ordeal. She crossed her arms over her chest, and set her mouth in an annoyed pout. Her tantrum lasted all of ten seconds, however, as she felt Ron's breath on her neck and heard him whisper in a deep, tantalizing voice for her to 'behave herself.' _Argh! Why does he always have to do that? How am I supposed to act angry at him if he won't stop acting so desireable!?_ "That's just like you to say," she muttered resignedly, and she swore that she could hear Ron smile triumphantly.

"As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, Hermione, dearest," Ron continued. "If you promise not to ask any more questions, I'll give you a hint."

"What kind of hint?" Hermione asked, trying very hard to maintain her annoyed appearance, although she couldn't mask the hint of interest in her voice.

"Well, I don't know if I should tell you anymore; you hurt my feelings by not trusting me," Ron teased, his voice mirroring the pout that had been on her lips earlier. Hermione tried to hit him, but the effort only resulted in her swiping at empty air.

"Stop it," she scolded, with a now very large smile on her face. "Where are we going, Ron?" she asked again, getting a bit more enthusiastic about Ron's little game. She nervously played with one of the charms on the golden bracelet she wore, a habit she had developed some years back. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as Ron once again leaned-in behind her, his breath like a warm breeze on her skin. 

"A hint _is_ in order, I suppose," he conceded, "but, do you, Hermione Granger, solemnly swear that after I give you this hint you will stop badgering me, your poor, helpless boyfriend, into revealing anything more about this little adventure?" he asked, slipping his arms around her waist and pulling her close.

"That's not fair," Hermione answered. "You know I can't think straight when you're this close." 

"Hmm, I know," Ron retorted in her hair, tightening his arms around her. Hermione playfully swatted his arms away, and entwined her fingers with his.

"Well, alright; I suppose that I, Hermione Granger, do solemnly swear that after you give me this hint I will stop badgering you, my poor, helpless…though I can think of some better words to describe you…boyfriend, into revealing anything more about this little adventure," she said resignedly. She felt the brief pressure of Ron's lips on her forehead, and squeezed his hand.

"Your hint, beautiful madam, is this: a boy always remembers the first woman who ever slapped him, and in this case the location where it happened, too," he answered rather cryptically.

"What!?" Hermione asked, obviously not catching on. She went to protest, but was cut short by Ron's finger on her lips.

"Ah, ah…you solemnly swore," he reminded her, and Hermione silently fumed. 

"But that made no sen—" she tried again, although this time it was the feel of Ron's lips on hers that ultimately stopped her from protesting any further. When she felt Ron pull-away, she was left lightheaded and exalted. All of Ron's kisses affected her just as deeply as if they were their first, and they were a powerful weapon that she knew Ron used only when he was desperate to avoid a fight. Hermione was itching to let him have it anyway, but decided against it. She'd have plenty of time to get back at him later, she mused, although she knew that deep down she could never hold the grudge long enough to bring it up again. 

"Well I guess we'd better get to it before you break out of your trance," Ron teased, and Hermione stuck her tongue out at him. "Now, now, don't tempt me or we'll never get anywhere," he teased some more, and Hermione couldn't help but be affected by their close proximity. He still had not released her from the hold he'd garnered when he'd kissed her, and it was affecting her brain synapses in a most unsettling manner. 

"Ron," she whined, although she really wouldn't have minded being sidetracked a little. Ron finally released her, and guided her through the sitting room of her flat in the direction she knew to lead to the fireplace.

"Yes, yes, I know; we're almost there. We're travelling by Floo as you can't possibly Apparate somewhere you don't know you're going, so it will be a bit of a bumpy ride," he said. She heard the familiar whoosh of Floo Powder in the fireplace, and held Ron's hand tightly as he marched both of them into the flames where he yelled-out the word "Greggain". Hermione shut her mouth tightly as the swirling sensation overtook her, slightly disappointed that she had no idea what 'Greggain' was, nor could she make any sense of the cryptic clue Ron had given her a moment ago. As the spinning stopped, Hermione took a deep breath, smelling an odd mix of mildew, wood, and candle wax. For some reason she had a feeling that wherever they were, she'd been there before, but she just couldn't put her finger on it.

"Can I look yet?" she asked hopefully, convinced that Ron would tell her she couldn't. To her surprise, however, she felt his fingers unfastening the blindfold and, keeping her eyes closed, felt the material slide down her cheek as Ron removed the barrier. 

"Well, open your eyes," Ron whispered in her ear, and Hermione realized that her eyes were still closed. She took another deep breath before opening her eyes slowly, a silent 'oh' forming on her lips as she recognized the room in which she stood.

The cabin was little changed from the last time she had been there. It was cleaner and had been fitted with several candles, for one, but other than that it was still the one room she remembered with its musty old sofa in front of the fireplace, and the dingy window at the back. The table that they'd used for firewood when they'd been stranded here had been replaced, and on it had been set more candles. Hermione blushed as the memories of her being here with Ron came flooding back to her. Though it had only been three years, it seemed like an eternity ago. So much had happened since then…they'd faced death in the face, they'd fallen in love, they'd both gotten promising jobs and moved-out of their parents' house…Hermione turned to Ron who smiled down at her.

"Do you like it?" he asked her, running his fingers across her cheek.

"I love it," Hermione answered truthfully, "but what's the occasion?" she asked. Ron frowned at her question, and simulated an insulted air.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten our anniversary," he said, and this time it was Hermione's turn to frown.

"Ron, our anniversary isn't until next week," she told him, as Ron shook his head at her.

"No it's not," he argued.

"Of course it is, Ron. It will be three years to the day, _next week_, that I woke-up in the hospital wing, and you told me you loved me," she told him as if he were a small child, which, to her immense surprise, caused him to smile widely, his eyes gleaming.

"You're wrong," he said, still smiling. "That may be the day on which we've celebrated our anniversary, but it's not by any means our true anniversary," he told her, taking her hand in his and taking a light hold of her charm bracelet. "It says right here," he said, opening up a charm replicating a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ that held pictures of the two of them when they were younger and pointing at a date engraved underneath them, "that _today_ is in fact our anniversary. Don't you remember? Three years ago today, I found courage enough to tell you how I really felt about you," he told her, the smile never leaving his face.

"I remember," Hermione said fondly, tears gathering in her eyes as she looked-up at Ron.

"Good," he said, leading her to the sofa where they both sat down. He reached beside him and lifted an object that Hermione recognized as being Ron's old school knapsack…the same knapsack, in fact, that he'd carried when they had been stuck in that very same cabin. Hermione looked at Ron quizzically, but the latter merely winked at her before placing the knapsack on his knees, and extricating from it a small model of a train car. Upon closer inspection, Hermione noticed that it was in fact what looked like the car from the Hogwarts Express.

"Is that—" she began to ask, but was silenced, once again, by Ron's lips on hers.

"Sshh," he smiled, "no questions," he said as he held the train car between them. "I know you recognize this," he told her, "because not only did we first meet on one of these, but it was while we were coming back from school after fourth year, when we were all sitting in a train compartment that I realized just how crazy I really was about you, and it's partly thanks to one of these that we're together today," he told her, handing her the wooden model and gesturing for her to open the top. As she did so, Ron continued to speak. "It was on a train car that you first came into my life, and even though I didn't realize it then, it's the best thing that happened to me. Four years later it was on a train car that I realized I loved you. I was so scared of the knowledge back then, and for the longest time I didn't want to face it, but when three years after that I found myself in that train car with you again, realizing how special you are to me, and when that very same train car derailed and I almost lost you, I knew that you were the one for me. You were everything that I could ever hope for, and you were all that I wanted in life. You were you, you were Hermione, _my_ Hermione, and I couldn't bear ever being away from you," he said as Hermione gasped in front of him, pulling-out a black velvet box from the inside of the model train car. Ron kneeled in front of her, taking her hand in his as tears glinted in his eyes as well. "Hermione, I've spent half my life loving you, and if there's anything I'm afraid of now, it's not being able to tell you enough how much you mean to me. You're my match, my soulmate; there's no one else I could ever love as much as I love you, and if you'll let me, I want to spend the rest of my life proving it to you," he told her as tears fell down both Hermione's and his cheek. "Will you marry me?" he asked her, opening the velvet box holding the ring. Hermione only glanced at it before throwing her arms around Ron's neck.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, as both now cried openly and embraced. Ron slipped the ring on Hermione's shaking finger, and pulled her in for a kiss. It was a long time before they broke apart, and when they did, Ron pulled Hermione close to him, kissing the top of her head.

"Thank goodness you said yes," he whispered in her hair. "My mother has known about this day for months, and she would have had my head if I had messed it up," he laughed. Hermione looked up at him, with a smile on her face as something dawn on her.

"Greggain the Gory," she whispered.

"Yeah, that's the adjective Mum used when she told me that she had her heart set on having you as a daughter in law, and that she wouldn't settle for anything else," he teased, and Hermione burst out laughing.

"Well if I didn't marry you, I could have easily married one of your brothers," she teased back, and Ron's eyes bulged. Hermione kissed him before he could have a conniption and smiled at the fact that her kisses had just as much of an effect on him as his did on her. "On second thought, there is no Weasley that I'd rather spend the rest of my existence with than you. There's no man on earth whom I will ever love as much," she whispered as she tilted her head until her lips were fractions from Ron's. She felt him smile against her lips.

"That's more like it," he whispered, before closing the distance and kissing her, his fiancee, his match, his Hermione.


End file.
